Hellstorm
by Noraque
Summary: Set between Seasons 5 and 6. A rogue Canadian soldier and old acquaintance of Ziva's returns with highly advanced abilities and a plan that threatens the entire world. Ziva/Tony friendship. The first part of a trilogy of stories. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_**Tel Aviv, Israel**_

"You're sure he's in there Jack?"

The voice had come from the back of the group, the end of the line, the bottom of the barrel. The other members of this queue quickly turned towards the intruding sound. To Agent Jack Korella of the CIA, that meant only one thing: that Christopher Jenkins, junior CIA agent, reconnaissance operative and general nuisance, may have just given away their position to the very last person you wanted to know you are coming.

Korella closed his eyes and bit his tongue to avoid delivering a particularly scathing remark towards the young recon officer. Although he strongly had an urge to do so, he refrained so as not to further jeopardize their mission. One thing he had learned early in his career was never to take more time that what was required. Finish your mission, do whatever it takes to accomplish your goals. Especially when it was an assassination mission. One mistake could mean the difference between success and failure. And when you were trying to take down someone such as _him_, failure was definitely not an option…

_But dammit, sometimes the boy just doesn't THINK, _Korella thought to himself. _He knows perfectly well just WHO we're tracking. _What, did he suppose it was his idea of a good time to go barging into a Tel Aviv mosque in the dead of night, in the company of an irritating recon operative, two personality-less Israeli Mossad agents and a Canadian…what the hell was the name of their spy agency anyway? His knowledge of Canada was admittedly dismal to say the least, but that name was so goddamn complicated. _CSIS_, he remembered. _Those were the initials. And he's about as colourful as his Israeli counterparts_.

With a slight turn of his head, Korella muttered back to Jenkins, "Completely sure."

The CSIS agent nodded and drew his pistol. "You remember what we told you? A clear shot to one of the venerable areas. You dare not miss, Agent. If so, you will not be alive long enough to regret it."

"Don't worry about me. I'm the one who knows him, remember? It's you four who have no idea what you're up against."

"You forget," One of the Mossad agents stepped forward. "We helped create him. We gave him those abilities." He drew a pistol from his back. "And now it is time for us to take them back."

Korella drew his own pistol, resisting the impulse to explain to the wooden faced Israeli that he had known an entire team…no, _the _team…his old team…_God, how long ago HAD that been_? _Three years?_ In that time, only three members were still breathing: himself, the female Mossad agent who had left after Somalia…and _him_.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Korella pushed open the door and slowly walked inside, gun sweeping the area. The four other operatives entered behind him, guns in hand.

The two Mossad agents immediately, and stealthily, made their way down the sides of the mosque, checking every single nook and cranny as they went along. The CSIS operative took up a position near the door; though less in the open, he was nonetheless keeping his eyes focused on anywhere an ambush may come from. Jenkins kept close to him, his eyes nervously darting around, a clear sign of inexperience. And one that would make him an ideal target.

Korella took the front of the of the gigantic room. He was no fool; he knew _exactly_ who they were dealing with. He knew what _he_ was capable of. And there was no chance he was going to let him get away.

He checked a corner, gun sweeping from side to side. Though he could see the immediate area was clear, he was not relieved in the slightest. He was _here_, that was certain. And if you didn't have him in your sights, you may as well kiss your life good-

Korella spun around. He had heard something, a sound resonating throughout the building. The other agents apparently had heard it as well; they immediately turned around, their weapons at the ready. Jenkins and the CSIS agent slowly began converging into the centre of the room.

Then it came again. A low, resonating laugh that seemed to be emanating from every single corner at the same time. A man's laughter. _His_ laughter…

Korella felt a sweat break his forehead. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his gun steady as walked towards the centre, looking up at the dark ceiling in an effort to try to glimpse him.

"Oh, Jackie-boy," the low voice resonated throughout the room. "You're out of practise in this gig. Your heartbeat is getting higher. When was the last time you were in a situation like this?"

Korella didn't answer. He kept his eyes to the ceiling- the area where the voice seemed to be coming from. The rest of the team followed suite.

None of them noticed the large dark coated figure drop down behind Jenkins. None of them heard his combat boots touch the ground. And Jenkins never knew who was behind him, not even when he felt five razor sharp tips rammed into his back.

The rest of the team spun around, and one of the Mossad agents fired at the figure. It hit Jenkins in the heart instead. The figure threw the body towards the Israeli, knocking him down.

The other Mossad agent attempted a Krav Maga kick; the figure caught his leg and snapped the kneecap. Before the agent could cry out in pain, the figure grabbed his head and viciously turned it; the neck broke with a sickening snap. The figure snatched the dead Israeli's gun, wheeled around and promptly delivered two direct shots to the CSIS and other Mossad agents' heads, putting them down permanently.

Korella fired off a shot in the general direction of the figure; it struck him in the forehead, and the coated individual's head snapped to the side. But the man didn't go down…

Turning towards Korella, the man stepped forward into the light. Korella gazed upon the bearded face of the young man, who's face was slowly being covered by a sadistic smile. The bullet wound in the left side of his forehead was already starting to close…

"You know, Jack," he said slowly as he took a step forward into the light, "there's something I always wanted to tell you."

He took a quick step the right; Korella quickly followed his movement and squeezed off another round. In a lightning flash, the individual dodged the bullet and stepped to Korella's left. He slashed the CIA agent's wrist, and Korella let out a cry of pain, dropping his weapon. The coated figure rammed his fingers into his throat; Korella's eyes went wide as he felt five razor sharp points penetrate his flesh and sever his windpipe.

The figure looked at him. "You're pathetically slow on your left side." He gave another smile. "Huh." He stared down as the CIA operatives's throat. "No dry comment coming from our beloved team leader's throat."

Korella began choking on his own blood. "What's the matter, Jackie-boy?" the figure asked. "Cat got you by the throat?"

Korella's eyes bulged; the sharp ends blocking off his flow of oxygen. With a stone cold look on his face, the figure ripped his fingers away from his throat. Korella collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor.

The figure breathed in a deep breath. It was nearly done- nearly all the subjects were eliminated. All that remained now was one. The most important one of all. The _special_ case. The one he had the biggest plans for.

_Ziva David…_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Special Agent Jethro Gibbs stepped out of the elevator leading to the forensic lab and stepped out into the bullpen area. He felt as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders; it was only 4:30 in the afternoon and he felt like he had just spent a week back in boot camp. He had just come from Abby's lab with the new revelations that the DNA test on the knife found at the crime scene- surprise, surprise- was a match to the victim of the team's latest case, a young marine found stabbed to death in his own home. The fingerprints on the weapon turned out to belong to- surprise, surprise again- the marine's girlfriend who was also conveniently at the scene of the crime covered in blood when the police had arrived. And wasn't it just the most surprising thing that five minutes into his interrogation of her, she had declared that her boyfriend had been a 'cheating, conniving bastard' who put his duty to his country above her needs. All in all, it should have been a welcome relief to have such an open-and-shut case, but strangely enough, it wasn't. He suddenly found himself longing for a complex case that would distract him from his depressive like state. Things had not been the same Jenny's death. He had found himself to be less enthusiastic, less his normal self since the incident. He'd be damned if he'd let the team see it, but he felt sometimes like breaking down. He shook his head. The only thing keeping him together _was_ his team, and that was where he felt he needed to be right now.

It did improve his mood when he walked into the bullpen area to find the usual bickering of his team in full swing.

"I'm telling you Tony, there is no way you could have figured that program out so fast. It took me more than fifteen minutes, and I'm the one who most understands how technology operates."

"And I tell you, Probie, that you're just jealous that someone can actually outthink and outwit you in your own playing field. No need to be upset; the Dinozzonator is full of surprises."

"If the Dinozzonator is not careful, he may wind up with a paper clip in his voice bag."

"Voice _box_, Zee-vah. And I'm too valuable to the team to be dispatched in that kind of fashion."

"But you might be dispatched in another fashion sooner rather than later." Gibbs said as he walked into the area.

Tony immediately sat up at attention. "Uh, boss, we were just, uh-"

"Forget what you were or weren't doing and let me know what you do have."

"We got the cell phone records for the girlfriend, boss." McGee consulted his computer. "She made one call to her job at the First American Bank, lasting 1:38 at 9:30 am. According to-"

"According to her employees, she said she would not be coming in today, due to matter of _personal_ business." Tony cut in. "And of course, that personal business included introducing her boyfriend to her little friend, the butcher knife."

"Well, her little friend did almost as much talking as she did." Gibbs replied. "Abby confirmed the fingerprints on it are hers and the blood on the blade is that of our dead marine. Strictly speaking, I think we've got an open and shut case, even without her complete lack of remorse."

"And it was so unfortunate that she turned out to be a bad guy?" Tony stared towards the ceiling and shook his head. "I could have sworn I caught her glance a few times when we took her in."

"You're indeed lucky we found out then and there." Ziva replied. "Otherwise, you would have been the next one to meet the end of a knife. Which may still happen some time in the near future if you're not careful, Tony."

"Is that a threat, Ziva?" Tony asked nonchalantly.

She smiled at him "Call it something to keep you focused in the field."

"And while we're on the topic of the field," Gibbs cut in walking towards the stairs, "I need the latest results of the new field applicants psychological tests by eighteen hundred hours. Ziva, DiNozzo,"

"Looking up the results now, boss." Tony crossed over to Ziva's desk, where the Israeli was already looking through a stack of sheets.

"McGee, I need the phone records of the Pve. Malin's residence. Open-and-shut case or not, we're still going to need all the evidence we got in case her lawyer decides to get smart with us."

"On it, boss," McGee said, but Gibbs had already disappeared up the stairs.

Tony took a stack of sheets from Ziva and started sorting through them. "I would've thought Gibbs would be more occupied in finding a new director. I mean, technically who does he answer to now?"

"It's only been two weeks, Tony." McGee called out. "That's still pretty fresh in anyone's mind, even Gibbs'."

"Yes, well, I don't think Gibbs is one to let things drag out, McGeek." Tony retorted. "Of course, if even the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs can be softened up…"

"Now what makes you think that's the case, DiNozzo?" The ex-marine sniper's voice spoke up just behind him.

Tony spun around startled, sending papers flying everywhere. "Uh, nothing, boss. I was just, uh…uh…shutting up now boss." He bent to pick up the papers from the ground.

Ziva started to grin at the situation, but quickly smarted under Gibbs' stare and got to work on the psych tests. Trained Mossad assassin or not, there was something about Gibbs' stare that inspired fear in everyone, even her.

McGee began typing away slowly on his computer. "Can't say I didn't warn you, Tony. I guess you reap what you sow."

_Thwack_! Gibbs' hand slapped the back of his head, jerking him out of his nonchalant trance. "Looking for the marine's phone records right away boss." He began typing on the computer at a much faster pace.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and started for the stairs again. _Yup_, he thought, _Things are definitely getting back to normal_.

***

Dr. Barry Goldstein sat down on his couch in his living room, beer bottle in hand. He sighed. Life, he decided, was getting too damn slow for him. These days he found he was spending the vast majority of his time merely lounging around. And all because of that damn secrecy clause. He shook his head. A decade spent working with the CIA and other intelligence agencies, then when he decides to call it quits, they forbid him from working for any private research company. The paranoid fools. It seems these days they were under the impression that if he worked anywhere other than under their very noises, he'd go blabbering America's national security secrets to anyone who'd listen. He was being watched, he was certain of that, to make sure he was following their orders to the letter, but that didn't really concern him. Let them watch. Pretty soon, they'll be sending a note up the chain of command begging to be sent back to one of their Eastern European black sites.

He took a sip of beer and sighed again. Well, at least there's no schedule for him to follow to the letter. He was, at least, content to sit back and enjoy the luxury of freedom in an invisible cage.

His thoughts were arrested by a sudden noise: a firm knocking on the door. Three heavy knocks, as if someone was rapping a concrete fist on his door.

Goldstein turned towards the door in confusion. Who would that be? Perhaps one of the CIA's finest? No, they would be far more discrete. Probably one of those damn door-to-door sellers. They just couldn't understand that they were far more a nuisance than anyone ever told them.

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." he called out. He brought the bottle back towards his lips to take another sip, but was stopped by three more knocks at the door.

Goldstein narrowed his eyes. His thoughts returned to the CIA; perhaps they _were_ checking up on him. Well, if that was the case, he was going to give them a piece of his mind.

He got up from his couch and walked towards the door. Unlocking it and opening it up, he said, "I've told you guys, our little game is over!" He stopped dead in his tracks.

A young man slowly walked in front of the doorway from the right side of his patio right in front of him. Sporting a trimmed beard and short dark hair, the man was dressed in a black leather outfit, comprised of an open black leather trench coat that nearly reached the ground in the back, black pants, what appeared to be a black leather vest under the coat zipped to the bottom of his neck, black leather gloves, and golden belt. He was wearing thin, small sunglasses despite the cloudiness of the day, which were tinted and reflective, making his eyes impossible to see. Slowly, he lifted one of his gloved hands and slid the shades off, revealing his dark, bemused eyes. His raised his eyebrows slightly and, slowly shaking his head and tilting it to the side, said in a low tone,

"The game's never over for _us_, Barry…"

Goldstein swallowed hard. "Asher."

The young man turned his head directly towards him, a look of confusion on his face. In a mock confused tone, he said, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Goldstein hesitated for a second, and then straightened up. "Sure." he said slowly. "Why not?"

He turned around and walked slowly back into his living room. The man named Asher closed the door behind him, tucking his shades into his coat's inner pocket, and passed his eyes over the hall. He tapped his finger a couple of times on the table in the hall before giving a slight smile.

Goldstein carefully cleared his throat. "You know, since the incident, I haven't been in contact with anybody, from _any_ organization," he declared as Asher walked slowly towards him, his head turned to the side, a look of strong scepticism on his face. "I'm just living out my temporary retirement, Asher. There's no need to return to what's in the past."

Staring down, Asher gave a slight shrug, before his eyes passed over to the table in front of the couch. Slowly, he reached down and picked up a steel candlestick and held it in front of his chest. He gave it a slight squeeze, the metal creaked, and the places where his fingers were positioned bent inward ever so slightly.

Goldstein inhaled deeply. Asher's knowing eyes glanced up from the candlestick to the doctor's face.

Goldstein swallowed again. "I see the serum is still working after three years. You're still at the top of your game."

Asher's eyes glanced over to the candlestick again. "Yeah, well," he murmured, setting the stick back down on the table, "you see, doc," he began slowly advancing towards him, "everything is nearly complete. Nearly everyone else is gone." Goldstein backed up and fell backwards onto the couch. "I have to say those- steel razor tips you gave me for my gloves worked well in the past, but it seems they have…outlived their use. After all," he raised his gloved hand, "what's better than giving it to people straight?"

Goldstein inhaled deeply. "And you intend on finishing the job right now, aren't you?"

"Getting closer to it." Goldstein looked up. Asher tilted his head. "But for it to be complete, I need you to send a little message on my behalf."

Goldstein opened his mouth; before he could make a noise, any kind of noise, Asher's gloved hand disappeared from his side, and was now being rammed with the force of a sledgehammer into his throat.

The last thing Goldstein experienced in his life, was a fountain of red erupting in front of his eyes.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gibbs squinted at the psych test sheets on the desk in front of him, pouring over every single word. The bright overhead light reflecting off the white sheets was starting to give him a headache. The fact that he had to decipher a massive amount of psychological medical jargon did not help the matter. He sat back and closed his eyes, letting out a large sigh.

Having spent half an hour going through the reports that Ziva and DiNozzo had deemed the best and most suitable, he could now positively say that he was officially exhausted. It seemed that all his time was spent at NCIS rather than in the field; there had scarcely been a good case for two weeks. Damn it, he needed something to keep him occupied. Spending so much time at NCIS reminded him of Jenny…

He gave his head a shake. The subject of Jenny was coming up too often in his own mind. A new director had yet to be decided upon, but he had purposely avoided the subject for the last couple of weeks. It opened up wounds and memories in his head, both old and new. He didn't need that nor did he want it. What had happened was in the past and, terrible as it may sound, he had to put it behind him. It was what Jenny would want.

His cell phone rang. He picked it up, flipped it open, and said, "Gibbs."

He listened for a moment, then hung up and started down the stairs to the bullpen. Ziva and Tony were engaged in another debate over some trivial matter, while McGee was still at his computer, his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers still clattering over the keyboard.

"Everyone get your gear together and move out." Gibbs walked past them towards the elevator without stopping. "We got a crime scene."

"But I thought were already working on…" McGee started.

"We got a new one, McGee. The phone records, or whatever you're working on, will still be there when you get back. We have to be out there soon, because the sky is looking questionable, and I'd rather get there before it's both dark and raining. Get moving."

McGee immediately fell into step behind Ziva and Tony as the four made their way into the elevator, the former just barely making it in before the door closed. Tony said casually, "Better start hitting the gym, Probie. You don't want to be left behind when the fireworks start. It could be hazardous to that oversized head of yours."

"If I do, Tony, it will because I actually want to hit the _gym_, not hit on the receptionist at the front desk."

"You two don't knock it off, and the only thing getting hit around here will be you." Gibbs threatened.

"Got it, boss." Tony replied. "Still, I would pay a hefty sum just to see McGee as the recipient of that. At least my head's still the size it's supposed to be."

_Thwack_! Tony was startled by a sudden slap to the back of his head. Realizing it had come from the side opposite of where Gibbs was standing, he turned around to see Ziva with a dangerous look in her eye.

"Don't be too sure of that, Tony. I'm sure I could find a reason to… rearrange the shape of your skull if you're not careful."

Tony nervously cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. Gibbs bit his lip to suppress a smile. Maybe this was exactly what he needed to get back on track…

***

Gibbs walked into the living room of the one floor house belonging to the late Barry Goldstein. He was glad to be inside the heated building; there was a definite dampness in the air, coupling with the chill of approaching night. A dark, cold rainy night was not something he was relishing going home in.

He expected Ducky to already be at the scene, and was not disappointed when he saw the older M.E. bent over the body of the man, who was sitting on his couch with his head bent back, blood covering his lower face and upper chest.

"Here's a riddle for you Jethro." the older man said in his crisp Scottish tone without looking up, "How does a man go from conducting research for the U.S. government to actually _being_ an object of research for members of the U.S. government."

"By having his throat completely crushed in?" Gibbs' responded in a friendly sarcastic way.

"Astute as ever I see. Our late friend here is the owner of this small residence, Dr. Barry Goldstein, former military researcher. The poor devil received a violent blow to his throat resulting in a crushed larynx and a broken windpipe. And by the looks of it, it was done with an unprecedented amount of force."

"A heavy weapon?"

"I would certainly say so. Whoever did this either used something like a sledgehammer, which, in my unofficial opinion, would be highly unusual, or has a punch stronger than any known individual on the planet."

"Is that any more likely?"

"No, but I thought I'd give you some nice food for thought."

"I'll brownbag it, Ducky." Gibbs allowed himself a tiny smile. "What about time of death?"

"We are indeed fortunate that the temperature is relatively cool for this time of year. Certainly would be a lot worse if were the other end of the thermometer. I remember one case in 1983 in Glasgow. By the time we'd gotten to the crime scene, the face had already-"

"Ducky." Gibbs cut in.

"Between an hour and an hour and a half. The local police noticed the door partly open at around 17h45, so that would mean that our friend here passed on between 16h00 and 17h30."

Gibbs automatically turned away and walked towards his other team members, leaving Ducky shaking his head and going on about the summer of '83.

"No sign of forced entry, boss." McGee informed him. "Looks like the victim let whoever it was in."

"Thank you for stating the obvious McGee." Gibbs replied. "What about any sign of the weapon?"

"I haven't checked yet…"

"Well, what are you still doing here? Ziva and DiNozzo are already searching the rest of the house, so make your start in the back area."

"Uh, boss- isn't the back area mostly woods?"

Gibbs stared at him. "Your perception is remarkable today. Make a search of the direct area behind Dr. Goldstein's residence. There's a road about a half mile from the back door. I ordered some junior agents to remain there. If you haven't found anything by the time you reach them, get them to assist you in searching again." He raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"On it, boss." McGee walked out through the back door.

Tony walked into the living room, followed closely by Ziva. "There's nothing in the bedroom as far as a weapon. Guy barely has anything in there at all, except a bed and some medical books. What kind of life does he have?"

"None whatsoever now, DiNozzo." Gibbs replied, searching the living room with his eyes. "So what do you have that tells us how he got that way?"

"His home office is almost as bare as his bedroom." Ziva interjected. "His computer is on, but it's encrypted and password protected. I've already given the order for it to be taken back to NCIS to be decrypted."

Gibbs gave a grunt of acknowledgement, still searching the room.

"Hey, where's McGee?" Tony asked. "We could probably use his geek brain to decrypt it right here and now."

"He's putting it to other uses right now, DiNozzo." Gibbs paused, spying something on the table. "And you're going to be occupied with something more a lot more… hands-on than that."

He picked up the metal candlestick from the table and held it up.

Tony perused his lips and shrugged. "Well, that's not my idea of where to put an object that intimates romance," Ziva raised an eyebrow at him, "but I guess every man has his own tastes."

"Even if those tastes are poor." Gibbs indicated the stem of the stick: five slight indentations were visible. Four on one side, one on the other.

Tony raised an eyebrow of his own. "Now I know why the guy had no private life. What kind of girl wants to spend time with a guy who doesn't keep his brass all shined up an in order?" He gave a small chuckle, which Gibbs quickly shot down with a glance.

Ziva stared at the candlestick. Something about it, no…something about this entire situation, was familiar with her…

***

McGee gave a huff as he neared the end of the woods. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Tony was right: he was in need of a few trips to the gym. Granted he had never been a fitness nut himself, but in this line of work, it could never hurt. Plus, that way at least, he'd actually be able to have something good to retort with the next time Tony or Ziva decided to make a smart comment to him.

He emerged from the trees a moment later. As far as he could tell, Gibbs had sent him on a false trail; there had been no sign of a weapon anywhere directly behind the direction of the house. Maybe he'd be able to convince a few of those junior field agents it was actually in their interest to do the menial work for a change, and give him a hand. He was getting rather tired of still being treated as a rookie, most inexperienced member of the team or not.

McGee scanned the area in front of him. An NCIS jeep was stationed about ten yards away. He squinted through the rear window, but couldn't see any sign of the agents.

He grumbled to himself. What did they think they were playing at? He walked towards the jeep, hoping he was mistaken and they were actually there. If not, he could only imagine Gibbs' reaction when he found out. Those junior agents would be out of a job faster than they could blink. And that's if they were lucky.

Reaching the jeep, he peered in through the driver's window. No one was in the vehicle. McGee gave a call, "Hello? Anyone here?"

No response. McGee gave a sigh and was about to turn back when he caught sight of something. Something sticking out from behind the front tire on the other side of the jeep. He turned his head towards the object get a better look.

It was a shoed foot lying on the ground.

McGee suddenly felt a sense of alarm. He drew his weapon and moved cautiously around the jeep, using the vehicle itself for cover. Carefully, he peered around the side.

The three NCIS agents had not even had a chance to draw their weapons; all three of them were still tucked in their holsters. They all lay on the ground behind the jeep, the necks of two of them twisted at awkward angles. The third was lying on his back, his head a bloody mess.

McGee's breathing increased immediately. He kept his gun in front of him, his eyes sweeping the area in a quick, panicked fashion.

The young NCIS officer only caught a vague glance of what could have been a whirlwind rushing towards him from his left, and had absolutely no time to react. He felt a hand grab him by the throat and slam him, with unimaginable force into the passenger's side window of the jeep. The back of his head bounced against the glass, cracking and nearly shattering it. His gun dropped from his hand to the ground, beyond his reach.

A young bearded man wearing a black leather trench coat stared at him in cold bemusement. His gloved hand clamped down on McGee's throat. The NCIS agent croaked as he struggled to breathe; the man had unimaginable strength. It was a fight just to get a breath of air, let alone free himself.

"I'm going to hazard a guess," the man said in a low gravelly voice, "that you're a relatively high ranking member of the NCIS unit," The man stared down at the name plate on his vest, "Agent McGee. So I want you to do me a favour- help me send a message to a companion of yours; Ziva David."

McGee croaked again. His skull was pounding from lack of oxygen. With one arm, the man lifted the NCIS agent off the ground into the air, the cold smile on his face…

***

Ziva stepped out into the back area of the house, gritting her teeth. She had turned the house upside down searching for any kind of weapon. Despite her Mossad skills, she had still come up empty in her investigation. Even Gibbs had to admit that there was nothing in the residence, a fact he had made clear that he was not overly happy about.

Stepping outside to search the back area, she couldn't help but shake her earlier feeling; that something about this case was not only very familiar, but very sinister too. It was one of her instincts that she just had occasionally, that being with Mossad had taught her, and they were almost always proved correct. Tony would no doubt ridicule her over what he perceived to be false feminine intuition, whatever _that_ was, but that didn't change what she felt and thought. That didn't change her instincts

Ziva paused. Something was distracting her from her thoughts. A sense- no, not a sense. A smell. She sniffed the air once, and again caught it; a metal copper smell. It was something she was all too familiar with; the smell of blood.

Ziva became vaguely alarmed; she fingered her weapon as she made her way slowly towards the woods. The smell was becoming stronger, indicating she was approaching the source. Just as she approached the front of the woods, something to her right caught her eye. Looking over, she immediately recognized what it was; the large body of a dead dog.

Ziva cautiously approached it, keeping her finger on her weapon. Looking closely, she could see the location of the smell and what had caused it: the dog's throat had been slashed, almost to the point of decapitation.

Staring at it in confusion, she almost didn't hear the door behind her open and Tony's voice say, "What is it, Ziva?"

Ziva didn't turn around; instead she passed her eyes carefully over the scene. Carefully, she took hold of her gun and prepared to draw it, when something stopped her.

On the edge of a large maple tree directly in front of her, something was painted onto the bark. Something in blood…. Images. No… words:

**זכור את סומליה.**

_Remember Somalia._

Ziva's eyes widened. She suddenly knew why everything had seemed so familiar in her mind. She now knew exactly who had done this.

And then another thought entered her mind…

"McGee…" she whispered to herself.

She bolted forwards into the woods, ignoring Tony's calls of where she was going. Racing through the forest, she leapt over a fallen log and ran in the direction of the road, where she knew Gibbs had sent McGee. Her heart pounded in her chest, not so much from the run, but from fear. The fear that _he_ was nearby. And that McGee was now all alone…

It took her only a minute to reach the road. Bursting out of the trees, she immediately drew her weapon, scanning the area with her eyes. Spotting the NCIS jeep, she jogged over, though keeping her defensive position and weapon at the ready.

When she reached the truck, she stopped, arrested by the sight before her eyes. The windows of the jeep were cracked and broken; there was a large hole right in the windshield. Her heart started pumping even harder when she saw that most of the windows were tinted in red…

Carefully, she inched her way around the jeep, gun at the ready. Coming around the other side, she stopped dead at the sight of the bodies of the other three NCIS agents. Quickly, she checked the pulses of all of them, and found out that, though none of them were McGee, all of them were dead. The poor guys had never had a chance to defend themselves.

Straightening up slightly, Ziva made her way to the other side of the road, where the forest continued behind a strip of open meadow. Her eyes looking around, she called "McGee!" There was no response. "McGee!"

At the edge of the road, she gazed around for a moment before something caught her glimpse. A body lying in the grass…

Ziva's heart stood still. She raced over to the area, no longer caring about her own safety or the location of any possible danger. All she could tell right now was that a co-worker, _friend_, was in danger.

Reaching the body, her heart froze again as she stared down at McGee's motionless body. His entire face and jacket was drenched in blood, and his head, through the mess, had the appearance of being smashed with a block of concrete. She holstered her weapon and felt McGee's neck, and almost broke down in relief when she could feel the steady pulse in his neck.

Ziva grabbed her phone and speed-dialed Gibbs. When he answered, she almost cut him off before he could finish speaking. "It's Ziva! I need an ambulance on the back road a quarter of a mile from the crime scene immediately! Three NCIS agents are down, and McGee's badly injured. I repeat, McGee's badly injured!" She rung off before Gibbs had a chance to respond and looked back down at McGee.

"McGee?" She gave his face a light slap. "McGee, can you hear me?"

The only response she got was unconscious groaning. Putting her hand to his face, she gasped as she felt that his skin was ice cold. Despite the dropping temperature, she immediately stripped off her own jacket and draped it over him. Clenching her jaw, she heard the far off rustle of some crashing through the woods behind her and knew Gibbs and the rest of the squad were coming. She breathed in deeply. A close friend was hovering between life and death, and there was virtually nothing she could do.

Ziva looked up and stared off into space. _He_ was responsible. She'd recognized that clue on the tree immediately…

_Ballack_…

Hearing the rustling behind her grow much louder and the sounds of Gibbs and Tony calling her name, she knew that she could not let this go on. She had to end it right now. And she knew exactly how. There was a small bar a few miles down the road back towards the direction of NCIS. He'd be there, waiting for her. And she would go to greet him alright.

Standing up, she started running down the road in the opposite direction, back towards the direction of NCIS.

"Ziva!" Tony called. "Ziva, where are you going?"

The Mossad officer did not slow down or look back.

Tony turned his attention to Gibbs, who was sprinting over the where McGee lay in the grass. Crouching over his youngest agent, he spoke frantically. "McGee? McGee, can you hear me?" No response. "Damn it. Where the hell's the ambulance?!"

Tony turned back to the distant figure of Ziva. He did not tell Gibbs what was on his mind: that there may be more people in need of an ambulance in a very short time…


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The middle-aged bartender of the Dublin's Mist passed his eye over the room as he slowly wiped the bar top with his hand cloth. He gave a sigh and shook his head; less than half full again- the second straight Friday to happen. Only a few people sitting at the bar itself, plus a few others scattered around at the tables. The Dublin's Mist wasn't very big- hell, it could probably fit into his backyard, which was saying something- but goddamn it, it was the end of the week! People were supposed to let themselves off their pegs at the end of the week. Many did, but unfortunately very few let themselves down and hopped over here to do it. This little bar received only a few die-hard loyalists who refused to let the innovation of high-priced bars and clubs in the main city draw them away. He felt a sense of pride in that; fifteen years working and managing this place, and it still was bringing in the cash, sparse as it may be.

His eye drifted over the far right side of the bar to the sole individual seated in the area. The bartender's brow furrowed; the man had been sitting there for nearly fifteen minutes. Hadn't ordered anything, just sat there staring straight ahead, occasionally drumming his fingers on the bar. He was dressed very unusually for these parts in an entirely black outfit comprising of leather trench coat, leather pants, leather gloves, and what he assumed to be a sort of vest zipped to the bottom of his neck. The man was also wearing rectangular-shaped, reflective, thin sunglasses; despite the darkness and pouring rain outside, he had come in wearing them and he still wore them now. Staring straight ahead with the shades, his eyes were impossible to see. The bartender got an uneasy feeling in his stomach; generally, in his lifetime, whenever someone refused to show him their eyes, it meant they had something to hide. He didn't like that. If this man was out to make trouble, he was going to put an end to it before it even began.

Drawing himself up, the bartender sauntered over just left of where the man was sitting across from the bar. The man's fingers were drumming again, as though he were patiently waiting for something to happen.

Leaning over to try to see the man's face more clearly, the bartender murmured, "You're new to these parts, aren't you?"

The man's fingers stopped drumming. Slowly, his head turned towards the elder man. The bartender felt a slight shiver pass down his spine; though the only thing he could see in the man's glasses was his own reflection, he got the sense that behind them was a very shady and possibly dangerous individual. He suddenly started mentally cursing himself for forgetting to bring his shotgun like he usually did- this may be the one time he actually needed it.

The man stared at him impassively a moment longer. Then a smile started to crease his lips. The smile gave way, and the man gave a low chuckle just barely audible to the bartender, who was now more confused than nervous. The coated man gave another small smile, and, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, said in a low, gravelly voice, "How did you possibly guess?"

The bartender gave a slight shrug, as if it were of no importance.

Keeping his smirk-like smile on his face, the man's ears tuned into an approaching sound outside; the sound of fast-moving footsteps. Though no one else could hear it, his enhanced abilities permitted him to pick them up. Then, in the far distance, he heard a female voice calling out, "_Asher…_"

Keeping his face turned towards the bartender, the man said in an abrupt tone, "Tell me something. This little dive of yours- is it insured against... _utter destruction_?"

"Utter destruction?" The barman sounded incredulous as he repeated the words. "No, why would you ask a thing like that?"

The man shrugged. Turning back to staring straight ahead, he shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "_Too bad_…"

Staring at the mysterious individual a second longer, the bartender was distracted by a noise coming from near the front entrance of the bar. A woman's voice shouting, "Asher!" There was a pause. Then from right outside the door came an even louder yell. "_ASHER!"_

The coated man breathed in a deep breath. Though his eyes were hidden from view, the bartender could almost picture them closed, as though anticipating what was going to happen next.

A few seconds passed. Then there was a loud crash as the door was kicked open and swung around. A drenched Ziva, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt that looked be soaked to the skin, literally prowled into the bar, her face contorted in anger as she drew in deep breaths. Everyone else in the bar spun around to see what was going on.

Everyone but the coated figure. Ziva's eyes zeroed in on the man wearing the long, black, high-collared leather trench coat.

The man's head slowly moved to the left, and then turned around to stare at the enraged Mossad officer standing in the doorway. Ziva gritted her teeth. Even with the sunglasses, she knew it was him- same short dark hair, same shaped, stubble beard, same cruel expression.

And the same low, gravelly voice. "Well, well, well," the man said slowly, a toothy grin stretching across his mouth. He reached up and slowly slid the shades of his face, revealing those two cold, dark eyes. Drawing himself up to full sitting height, he said in the same low tone, "Look who finally decided to come crawling out of her cave."

Ziva's mouth pulled downwards even more, her focus so concentrated on Asher that she almost didn't hear the bartender's firm voice, "Look you two, I don't know what this is about, but you're not settling this in here. You got a problem with each other, take it someplace else."

In a low tone that practically vibrated with anger, Ziva said, "Anyone in this building who is not a sociopathic animal better leave _right now_."

Slowly, she drew her weapon from her holster. That was all it took to get her point across. Everyone else immediately got up off their seats and made a dash for the front door, even the bartender, who seemed to lose his confidence. The look of curiosity on Asher's face slowly gave way to a wide-eyed, toothy smile.

Ziva continued to stare furiously at Asher while the patrons swept passed her and out of the building. The man turned his head to the side, regarding Ziva with a look of interest.

The last customers raced out the door. As it swung shut behind them, Ziva breathing in and out at a dangerously audible level, stared at Asher with a look of absolute fury and hatred. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Then Ziva, her voice shaking with rage, broke the silence with a single word. "_Why_?"

Asher furrowed his brows in a look of confusion. His eyes moved the top right corner of their sockets, as though searching his brain for the answer to a complex physics question. "Why?" His tone was incredulous, his eyebrows raised high, his eyes open wide and staring straight at her. He cocked his head to the side, his mouth slightly open, his eyes narrowed in her direction. Then, a moment later, they opened wider as a low, evil-sounding chuckle escaped from his throat.

Ziva continued to stare at him, her head pounding from clenching her jaw muscles so tightly.

Asher tucked his sunglasses into his inner coat pocket and slowly stood up. "You quit the team in Somalia without leaving so much as an e-mail address." He spoke in a slightly louder voice, turned towards the left side of the room. He turned towards her and started walking slowly in her direction. "You don't check on the status of your former teammates. You don't recognize the good doctor from Ohio." He spoke methodically, his hands punctuating each point.

"So tell me," he stopped and stared at her with a semi-blank look on his face. "_What else was I supposed to do to get your attention_?"

Ziva eyes bore into Asher's figure. The blood in her head pumping even harder and faster, she said, in a furious low voice, "You killed three good agents, and left one of my closest friends to die- _to get my attention_??"

A small smirk appeared on his face. "As I told you in Mogadishu, Ziva," he raised his eyebrows slightly, "I always made far better entrances than you."

He slowly closed his left fist tightly, causing a low cracking sound, before slowly opening it again.

The two glared at each other for a moment, each boring a hole into the other with their eyes, both making the other feel the brunt of their mental attack…

Then, in a lighting flash, Ziva aimed her gun at Asher and started squeezing off rounds.

Asher made a sudden movement to the right, and in what Ziva could only describe as a blur, was instantly to the left of her position, dodging her bullets. She continued firing, and in another blur, Asher lunged forward to his left and was instantly on her right closer to her position. He zipped back to her left, and then was almost instantly back on her right, bending backwards to dodge her rounds, moving closer to her with each movement. By the time of the fourth dodge, he was less than ten feet away, and leaped towards her before she could react. He grabbed her right wrist with his left hand and her weapon with his right. Pushing her gun to his left, away from him, he sent it spinning to the floor. Immediately, he sent a right hook straight into Ziva's jaw. The force of the impact caught her completely off guard, and she spun to her right. In another blur, he was at her right side again, and sent a vicious elbow into her ribcage. Doubling over in the sudden pain, she just barely saw his right palm come up and hit her right under the chin. The force lifted her off her feet, and she momentarily felt weightless in the air before his forearm came crashing down on her chest, driving her to the hard floor and knocking the wind out of her. Asher launched into a perfect back flip, landing completely out of reach of any retaliatory move by his opponent. Staring at her with interested eyes, he said casually, without the slightest loss of breath, "Oh, by the way Ziva, I've…_upgraded_ a bit since Somalia. Just in case you haven't noticed."

Ziva grit her teeth. She was struggling to breathe, and her ribs felt like they had been at least cracked, if not broken. She had certainly not expected this. She had never seen a person move so fast. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he was teleporting. But in her mind, she knew that was impossible. And she'd have to remember that to stay alive.

She grabbed her gun and quickly aimed and fired at him again. In another blur, Asher lunged to the left, then back to the right. Before her incredulous eyes, he leapt into the air and executed a perfect horizontal 360° turn in mid-air as the bullets flew just under and over his head, the scene being so unreal, it seemed as though it was happening in slow motion. He landed on his feet, staring smugly at the Mossad officer as though waiting for more.

Ziva pulled the trigger, but the hammer just clicked. Empty. She cursed under breath for being so careless with her bullets, knowing she had no extra magazines. Without hesitation, she tossed her gun away and pulled out two of her knives, one in each hand.

Asher gave a small smirk. He leapt forward and launched himself into a series hand flips towards Ziva. In a moment he was upon her, his right palm coming close to her face. Ziva barely dodged in time, and then quickly jammed her left blade into his forearm. Using her own momentum, she swung around and jammed her right knife into the side of his neck. She let go of the handle, tearing her other knife out of his arm before stepping back and waiting for him to fall down for good.

Except he didn't fall down. Teetering slightly, Asher gave a confused look at Ziva before grabbing the handle of the blade and, in one quick motion, tore it out of his neck. Ziva stared in astonishment as she watched the wound in his flesh instantly close, with not even the slightest sign of a scar or that there had ever been a wound.

Asher gave a low chuckle and brought the knife up to his face. "What was that you once told me about needing only one shot to take me down?" His eyes passed over towards her. "I think you just used up your one shot." The blade disappeared down his coat arm, and he raced towards her again.

Ziva quickly grabbed her backup knife from her lower back, and lunged forward. She swung her right blade at his abdomen, and then her left one at his face, but the trench coated Asher merely ducked and dodged her attacks. She swung her right blade at his head, and he easily grabbed her wrist before she could land the blow. Quick as a flash, she flipped her other knife so that the handle was closer to her thumb, and rammed her fist into his jaw.

Ziva let slip a cry of pain and almost dropped the knife; the man's jaw was a strong as steel- punching it made her feel like she'd just punched a slab of concrete. Asher spun her around; Ziva came back with a swinging kick, only to have her opponent catch it nonchalantly. Asher immediately kicked the thigh of her other leg, sending a wave of pain shooting through her leg and launching her into the air. In a heartbeat, he launched himself backwards, pressing his palms against the floor with his feet up in the air, and then launched a devastating handspring mule kick into her back. Ziva went flying through the air over the bar and crashed, face first into the rows of bottles behind. She crumpled to the ground, hitting the back of her head against the bar as shattered glass and alcoholic liquid came falling down onto her.

Asher paused for a moment and cocked his head, as though assessing on whether the battle was already over.

A moment passed with no sign of life. Then, from behind the bar, came the cracking of glass. A second later, the Israeli staggered to her feet. Her face was cut with dozens of tiny wounds, but she still held onto her knives, and her eyes were still locked onto her target. With an enhanced effort, she flipped back over to the other side of the bar. Asher grinned and dashed towards her.

Ziva tried a straight stab with her right blade; Asher caught her hand and forearm and, in another blur, had delivered another elbow to her damaged ribs. Ziva double over as the pain swept through her entire midsection. Another blur and Asher had caught Ziva by the throat and was lifting her, with one hand, into the air. For a brief moment, Ziva's only sensation was being lifted through the air with Asher's vice-like grip on her throat. Then a second later, he slammed her down with all his force onto the bar. The wood on the top cracked and splintered, and Ziva's ribcage felt like it had exploded. Still gripping her by the throat, Asher started pulling her along the top of the bar with one hand; the splintered wood poked and stabbed through Ziva's thin shirt into her back. She gave a mighty gasp for air.

Reaching the end of the bar, Asher lifted Ziva off the top and brought her up right in front of him. For a second, he let go, and she felt weightless for a second again. Then, without warning, he rammed his left palm into her upper chest, sending her flying back towards the front of the room, where she crashed in front of the large window on the floor.

A gleam came into Asher's eye, and he said in a rather thoughtful tone, "You know, Ziva, I think it's starting to get a little rowdy in here." He cocked his head. "What do you say we take this outside?"

Ziva struggled to get to her feet. Her chest was killing her, and she could feel the stinging of glass shards in her face. But she willed herself to try to stand.

Asher ran towards her and leapt forward. Landing on his palms, he flipped himself over and launched himself, boots first, at Ziva.

Ziva managed to get to her feet a split second before the collision. One second she was staring at the oncoming human missile towards her, the next the boots were crashing against her chest, lifting her off her feet, and sending her crashing through the large window.

She fell heavily to the wet ground as thousands of glass shards fell all around her. She turned her head in an effort to avoid being blinded, and as a result didn't see Asher grab her by the front of her shirt and fling her away from him. She sailed through the air and crashed violently against a large metal dumpster, knocking the wind out of her again as she crumpled to the ground. Even though it was no longer raining, the ground was still very wet and it was quite dark out. Very dangerous conditions for her.

Still hanging onto her knives, she made an exhaustive effort to get to her feet, and managed to do just in time to see a grinning Asher make his way towards her. She went for a right stab, only to get Asher's fist deliver a vicious left hook which snapped her head back. Her jaw vibrating with pain, she quickly turned back and went to deliver a left strike; Asher nonchalantly swatted her hand away. She came up with her right one again; Asher grabbed her arm with his left hand and delivered a quick right blow to her ribs. Ziva gave a gasp of pain, and gave an all out yell when he clamped his right hand right over her ribcage. Using her own body as handles, Asher wheeled and pitched her right over his shoulder, smashing her into the dumpster once again and sending her to the ground.

The coated man gave a curious expression and walked to Ziva's left side as she made another painstaking effort to stand. "You know I really hate to say it Ziva, but, frankly," he shook his head pitifully, "I'm _very_ disappointed."

Using every ounce of her strength, Ziva pulled herself back to her feet. Asher scoffed and shook his head. "Do yourself a favour and _stay_ down…"

Ziva locked eyes with Asher and, muscles tensed up, she made a rush towards him. She swung with a left upper knife cut which Asher quickly dodged, and then a strike with her right one; Asher caught her by the wrist and spun her around so that he now had his back to the dumpster. Ziva suddenly whirled around and stabbed her knife into Asher's right shoulder, just as his iron-like fingers clamped onto hers.

Ziva grit her teeth and closed her eyes; pain was racing throughout her shoulder as Asher kept his vice grip locked on. She opened her eyes to see him gritting his own teeth as she held the knife buried into his flesh. He grabbed hold of her left forearm, she did the same to him, and letting out growls of pain and frustration, he pushed her backwards in an effort to get into better position.

Clenching her teeth, Ziva tore his hand away from her shoulder, ignoring the pain that went ripping down her arm, and, using his body for leverage, launched a powerful dropkick into his chest. Asher went flying backwards and crashed into the dumpster himself. Looking up, he gritted his teeth and let out a low growl. Running on pure adrenaline, Ziva picked herself up and went charging towards him. In another blur, Asher was suddenly on top of Ziva's shoulders, facing the opposite direction of her. He quickly launched himself into a backwards flip, landing on his feet, and sending Ziva flying blindly, upside down. Her lower back smashed into the top of the dumpster, and she crumpled to the ground yet again.

Asher waited a moment and stared at the motionless figure. Then he walked quickly towards her and seized her by the neck. As he brought her up towards him by the throat, Ziva suddenly made a stab towards his face with her right blade. Asher automatically caught her wrist with his left hand, and held it firmly. Ziva clenched her jaw and tried to force the blade towards him, but he had an iron grip on her arm, and she couldn't move it an inch. Even though the blade was mere centimetres from his face, Asher didn't as much as blink. His face remained largely expressionless as he said in a calm voice, "Like to kill me wouldn't you?"

Ziva clenched her jaw even more. Asher merely shrugged. "Should have done that when you had the chance."

In the blink of an eye, he launched a spinning backwards kick to the backs of her knees. As her legs flew up into the air, he launched a straight kick right to her side, sending her slamming into the dumpster once again. Her knives flew from her hands, and she didn't get up again. Instead, she made an effort to painfully roll over onto her stomach.

Asher walked in front of her, staring down at the Mossad officer pitifully, as if observing a child that has miserably failed to walk without falling. "Just _when_ are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours?" he asked brusquely. "These pathetic individuals you surround yourself with are the very cause of the entire world's corruption. _We_ are nothing like them. We _never_ will be. Why do you…_insist_ on dragging on yourself down to their level?"

Drawing in pained breaths, Ziva stared up at the man she so violently hated. "I…" she began, "…am _nothing_," she took several more breaths, "like you…"

A small smile spread over Asher's face. "Of course you are." he said, shaking his head. He shrugged. "You just haven't realized it yet."

He turned to go, then stopped and said, "Oh, yeah." He flipped out the knife Ziva had stabbed him with from his coat arm. "I think this belongs to you."

With deadly speed and accuracy, he hurled the knife towards Ziva's leg; it buried herself deep into her thigh. The Israeli let out a cry of agony and pain that filled the air.

Asher stared down at her, his expression somewhere between satisfaction and regret. "Old partner…"

He turned on his heel and raced off into the night. Ziva lay on the ground in absolute agony. Every single part of her body ached. The last thing she recalled before blacking out was the wail of sirens in the distance…


	5. Note

**Note:**

**This is NOT a chapter! But I felt I had to make a couple of clarifying points before I continued.**

**Just in case anyone noticed, the attire and move-set of the Asher character is based on the character of Albert Wesker from **_**Resident Evil 5**_**, and NOT, as some may think, from **_**The Matrix**_**! Just for the record, there is NO attempt at copyright infringement; I do not own Albert Wesker or any of the **_**Resident Evil**_** stuff. I just thought he was totally badass in the game, and wanted to base the antagonist of this story on him. The Asher character is NOT a rip-off of Albert Wesker; he's his own character who has a definitive back story and a** **very personal history with Ziva. You'll see that soon.**

**As well, some may remark that the bar fight scene has many similar dialogues and moves similar to the scene from **_**X-Men Origins: Wolverine**_**. Again, there is NO attempt at copyright; it was just a fitting place to have the two characters duke it out.**

**Due to the intense university year, I may not be able to update instantly, but I'll try to update as often as I can. Thanks for the reviews and keep them coming! If you don't, I might just feel inclined to have Ziva go the way of Kate in the next chapter without showing her history with Asher, or what could have happened next. So hit that green button at the bottom of the page!**

**P.S- Criticism is also welcome- let me know if I can improve something, or if you have questions about stuff. I'll respond as quickly as possible.**


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter**** 4**

Gibbs strode through the emergency room doors. His heart was thumping almost as loudly as loudly as his boots thumped against the tile floor, and a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind at a hundred miles an hour. In the space of less than an hour, two of his top agents had been seriously injured, and he had no idea what the status of either of them was. Walking through the doors of the hospital gave him the same feeling as walking through those of a morgue, except that this time, there would be no Ducky to lighten the mood. He prayed that he would not _need_ a reason to walk into a real morgue.

He marched right up to the front desk, where the receptionist was typing away on the computer and didn't see him approach. He brought his hands down aggressively onto the counter, startling her and snapping her out of her semi-conscious state. Peering up at the former marine sniper, she cleared her throat and asked in an instinctively calm voice, "Yes sir, may I help you?"

"You can start by telling where to find two recently admitted patients to the ER; Timothy McGee and Ziva David." Gibbs spoke quickly, authoritatively, as though to cut through any invisible red tape that may be blocking his way.

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't release details about ER patients while they're in intensive care," the receptionist replied in an equally calm, unblinking way.

Gibbs gritted his teeth. It was bad enough that his agents had been severely injured, but to be stonewalled in trying to see how they were really irritated him.

"I'm Jethro Gibbs of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and those two people are my agents." He spoke clearly and with all the authority that came with his job. "Two of my _top_ agents. Two agents who are vital to my team. I demand that you tell me what's going on with them immediately!"

"I regret that I have an obligation to maintain patient confidentiality until told otherwise by the attending doctors, sir." The woman's voice was equally cool and calm.

"Listen, you," Gibbs leaned on the counter and brought his face within a few inches of hers, "Whether you know it or not, these two agents are not merely field runners tripping and falling from the pavement. They are professional field agents who were brutally attacked and left for dead! Now as the leader of the team, I tend to get just a little bit concerned and angry when that happens under my watch. Now, you have ten seconds to give me the information I'm asking for, or there's going to be a _new_ patient admitted into this god…"

"Gibbs!" The ex-sniper turned around to see Abby racing towards him. His anger immediately evaporated when he saw the tear-stained face of the Goth scientist. Her makeup was smeared and her eyes were red and puffy, causing a pang of pain in his heart. She ran over and grabbed him in a bear-like hug.

"Abby," Gibbs said, holding onto the trembling scientist, "Abby, take it easy. Calm down. It's alright." He could've slapped his own head at his pathetic attempt at comfort. For all he knew, all was _not_ alright.

"Gibbs," she broke away to face him, her lips trembling, "what's going on? All I've heard is that Ziva and McGee were attacked, and now nobody will tell me anything! I heard they were hurt really bad! They're not…" She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh God, don't tell me they're…"

"No, Abby, they're alive." Gibbs quickly cut, holding onto her shoulders. "They're going to be fine, I'm sure of it." _Damn it, why can't I believe that myself_!

"And we're going to find out exactly how they are right now." He turned back towards the receptionist. "Now that you've seen first hand how much this news has affected my team as a whole, you can fix your earlier blundering by telling me where I can find my squad mates!"

"That won't be necessary. I can tell you that myself." Gibbs and Abby turned to see a blond man in a doctor's coat standing behind them. Gibbs asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Ralston of the ER unit. You're here concerning recently admitted patients Timothy McGee and Ziva David, correct?" He pronounced Ziva's last name 'Day-vid'.

"Da-veed, yes. I'm Jethro Gibbs and this is Abigail Sciuto of NCIS. The two patients of members of my team; I need a status report on their condition."

"Well, what I can tell you right away is that Patient McGee is certainly in more critical condition. He's still in intensive care right now."

Abby gave a gasp and her eyes grew wider. Gibbs, trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort in his chest, asked, "How badly is he injured?"

"Severe enough that if we hadn't gotten him here as quickly as we did, then his chance of survival would be much lower. Not only has he lost a lot of blood, but he's also suffered severe trauma to his face. They're a very real possibility that he suffered a concussion; until we know for certain we're going to be keeping a close eye on him."

"But he _is_ going to make it, isn't he?" Abby asked, her voice filled with worry.

"For now, all we can do is keep an eye on his condition. He's relatively stable for the time being, but anything could happen at anytime. We need to keep him where we have quick access to him."

"And Ziva?" Gibbs prompted.

"Miss David is suffering from a number of moderate injuries. She has numerous cracked ribs, some remarkably close to being broke, and we had to remove numerous pieces of glass from her face. Fortunately, they did not do any damage to her eyes. She also had a knife wound in her thigh, which, very fortunately, narrowly missed her femoral artery. She was very lucky; another half inch and she could have lost a lot more blood. All this is discounting the numerous cuts and bruises she has over her body. She in stable condition right now, but has yet to regain consciousness. We'd like to keep her here for a few days to monitor her condition."

Gibbs gave a mild grimace. "I can imagine her opinion of _that_."

"Gibbs," Abby suddenly turned sharply towards him. "Where's Tony? I haven't seen him since he left NCIS and with the others being attacked…"

"He's alright Abby." Gibbs cut in. "I sent him to interview a witness in the reception; he'll be here as soon as he's finished."

Abby breathed a large sigh of relief. "Thank God. I was beginning to wonder…" She turned towards Dr. Ralston. "Please, can I go and see McGee?"

"I must discourage you from doing that. Patient McGee is still in a critical state. Subjecting him to any excess form of stress could…"

"Stress?" Abby's eyes flashed angrily. "I'll have you know, Mr. Doctor, that Timmy often comes down to my lab when he's feeling stressed! Whenever I play heavy metal to concentrate on my work, he automatically feels obliged to come down, even when I don't need him. You can process that in your doctor brain!"

Ralston shot a glance towards Gibbs, who merely shrugged as if to say, 'If you're looking to get help with this, you're sure as hell not going to get it from me!'

The doctor sighed. "Very well. I'll allow you five minutes but _no more_. I'll show you to his room." He started walking down the hall. Abby quickly went after him.

***

Tony stood in the hospital reception area, grim faced, as he stood before the middle-aged man standing in front of him. The man was named Sean O'Hara, bartender and owner of the Dublin's Mist bar just a few miles from NCIS. Apparently the man was more concerned about his insurance charges caused by the large amount of damage rather than the actual reason for the damage. This annoyed Tony; two of his teammates were lying in God-knows what condition in this hospital, and he's going on about his own personal problems. He cut into the man's monologue.

"Yes, Mr. O'Hara, I understand you're upset about the damage to your property, but can we get back to the events leading up to it. You were telling me about the shady-looking man that came in at about quarter to six?"

"You can bet your badge it was exactly that time; I looked at my watch! Guy comes in and sits at the end of the bar. Doesn't order anything, just sits there drumming his fingers on the bar. Knew there was something strange about him from the beginning; it's always the same with these shady characters."

"Shady is a broad definition sir. Can you give me an exact description?"

"Guy was dressed in an all black leather outfit; coat, pants, gloves, you name it. He looked young- mid twenties maybe- had short dark hair and a shaped stubble beard. Couldn't see his eyes though; he had on these reflective, tinted sunglasses. Even though it was inside and it was pouring with rain outside! I knew right then and there was something not right about him."

"Had you ever seen him before?"

The man shook his head. "Never laid eyes on him in my life. Thought he was just a passerby. Though I would say the woman who came looking for him did; she called him Asher."

"So what happened next?"

"The guy just sat there, drumming his fingers, as though he were waiting for something or someone. A few minutes later, my damn's door's nearly kicked down and in storms the woman drenched to the bone with the look of the devil on her face. The guys taunts her a little bit, and I decided to put an end to it right then. I mean, I thought it was just a lover's quarrel or something. I told them to settle it somewhere else, and the woman pulls out a gun from her hip. That's all it took to get me and the rest of the people the hell out of there."

Somehow, Tony mused, he could picture Ziva ending a lover's quarrel with her gun. _So what the hell was all this about Zee-vah_?

"And you called the police?"

"Damn right I did! Weren't no way I was getting involved in that without my shotgun. I've never stopped cursing myself for not bringing it with me; my front window would still be in tact!"

"Yes well, I'm sure you'll get it all sorted out," Tony quickly interjected. "Thank you very much for your help, Mr. O'Hara. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

Quickly making a break for the hallway leading to the ER, Tony breathed a sigh of relief. Though he was grateful to get away from the half-crazy bartender, his mind quickly became overwhelmed with worry over his two injured teammates. McGee and Ziva were the closest things he had to best friends in this business, despite how he seemed to show it. Despite his frequent taunts and zingers towards McGee, he had grown to respect the young agent, eagerly to watch him grow and develop, just as he had once done. What Probie didn't seem to realize, or maybe he did, was that his often sarcastic comments towards him were more out of brotherly-friendship than for kicks. McGee was as close to a brother as he had, and he was trying to make up for all the years he had missed on that. As for Ziva, well, she was _Ziva_. He knew no one else who could take his offhanded remarks and turn them against him like she could. Not even Kate, God rest her soul, had been as successful at it. Of course, Kate had not been a trained Mossad assassin; more than once, he found himself nervously changing the subject when he saw Ziva fiddling with a paperclip. How could he not feel some sense of pride towards that? He sometimes wondered if he was developing a daredevil streak whenever he made one of his comments to Ziva. To do that to a Mossad agent had to qualify you as one.

And yet here they were, lying in the ER room of this hospital, severely injured at the hands of one man…Who the hell _was_ this guy?

"Boss!" Tony spotted Gibbs standing near the ER's front desk. He jogged up to meet him. "Did you find out anything? How are they?"

"Ziva's in stable condition for now, fortunately, but McGee is in intensive care with severe injuries. They're not sure what his exact condition is, so they're keeping a close eye on him. Abby's with him right now; she's pretty broken up."

Tony's mouth formed a thin line. His worries had instantly magnified by at least a hundred. He knew Abby was extremely fond of McGee; seeing him in such a state could very well cause her to breakdown. He wasn't sure if he could stand to see another of his friends in a bad state.

"What did you get from the bartender?" Gibbs asked.

Tony gave him a rundown of the interrogation. When he had finished, Gibbs shook his head.

"You know, DiNozzo, when I first heard about what had happened, I didn't really believe it. Ziva has always proven she can handle anything; you know that as well as I do. And yet when I got to the scene, it was as if I had stepped through a movie screen; it was almost surreal."

"Well, whoever this Asher-guy is, Ziva knew he was responsible for the attack on McGee." Tony added. "Judging from the way she took off as soon as we got to McGee, she knew exactly where to find him. And if the bartender was right in thinking the guy was waiting for her, I'd say he was fully expecting her to come to him."

Gibbs stared down the hallway. "All this is speculation right now, DiNozzo. We don't know it for certain. The only person who does is Ziva herself. And who knows when she'll be able to tell us…"

***

She could hear the noises of the hospital room; the beeping of the heartbeat machine, the coming and going of nurses, the worried, hushed voices of doctors. But she could not reply; she could not even regain consciousness to see what was going on.

Her mind, drifting between the real world and the dream world, automatically drifted towards the past. Her memories came crawling forth, flashing before her as though she was reliving them again. She remembered all to well how this had started three years ago. How she had become mixed up with an individual she would regret ever having heard of…

***

"_Shalom, Ziva. Come in."_

_Ziva walked up to the big desk and stood at attention, her hands behind her back. "You sent for me, Papa?"_

"_Yes." Eli David sat behind the desk, staring up at the young woman who was not only his daughter but his best agent. "It has come to my attention that a number of situations have arisen that must be taken care of. Situations which cannot be allowed to continue if we wish to preserve our interests."_

"_Our interests?"_

"_Indeed." He leaned back in his chair. "You have done extremely well in the last few months, Ziva. Your actions have allowed the State of Israel to remain, at least momentarily, a little more at peace. However, it is my duty to inform you that, despite our numerous victories, we have failed to satisfy the objective of exterminating all threats to our security. There are numerous overseas operations we have recently discovered that, if allowed to proceed, will not threaten just our own security but those of our allies as well."_

"_Should I take it Papa, that you are requesting that I be sent overseas to eliminate these threats?"_

"_You are partly correct, but not entirely." Eli replied. "Despite our resounding success, there are several of our allies who seem…reluctant to continue giving support to us due to the controversies surrounding our organization. Normally, this would not matter, as our secrecy allows us to remain classified about such activities, but we have come to realize that in order for us to continue that, we must allow at least some joint cooperation with our allies. That is why I agreed to allow Mossad to make Israel's contribution to the multi-national Hellstorm team."_

"_Hellstorm team?"_

"_Yes. A team of the most advanced and highly trained covert operatives put together in order to combat the growing threat of terrorism to the democratic world. As my best agent, I put your name forward in order to be Israel's representation."_

"_Why me? Ari has more experience dealing with international individuals."_

"_Ari is currently on assignment. When he returns, he is scheduled to be sent to the United States on another one. You are my best option." He laid a piece of paper on the desk in front of her. Picking it up, she could see the names of several countries upon it, including Israel's._

"_It is a multi-national team of the most skilled agents in the world. You represent Israel. In addition, there are four other team members you will be working with. The team leader is a CIA agent named Jack Korella, who specializes in heavy weapons handling. Representing the United Kingdom is William Raynes, a long-time member of the British SAS and a formidable marine. And then there's Solmon Mjele, who is from South Africa's elite Recces division of the military; he's an expert survivalist."_

_Ziva stated at the last name on the page. "And Canada? Who is their representative?"_

_Eli smiled. "Ah, that is the interesting thing. Canada's representative is a true anomaly; a twenty-two year old member of Joint Task Force 2, an elite counter-terrorism division of the Canadian Forces. From what I have seen, he is the most dangerous operative ever to come out of Canada's military. And that is why I am personally designating him as your partner."_

_Ziva looked up in surprise. "My partner?"_

"_Yes. I believe he is the most worthy of your time and attention. My orders are for you for to train him in the art of advanced assassination. He is already a formidable hand-to-hand specialist, but with your training, he will become an even greater weapon."_

"_If this is what you wish, Papa."_

"_It is. Your first assignment is in Sarajevo. From there you will go to Beirut, Damascus, and then Mogadishu. You are dismissed."_

_Ziva gave a low bow and turned to go. She stopped when she heard her father call out._

"_Oh, by the way; the Canadian operative whom you will be partnered with- his name is Ballack. Asher Ballack..." _

.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter**** 5**

Tony carefully held up the last of the three knives and held it up to the light. The ER doctors had purposely left the weapons as they were, as per Gibbs' strict orders. This one, the one that had been removed from Ziva's thigh, was slightly messier than the others; most of the steel blade was covered in dried red blood, an indication of the wounds inflicted upon his partner by the mysterious man in the leather trench coat. In his experience, he had never seen Ziva suffer a wound that caused her to land in the hospital, let alone with her own weapons. His mouth formed a tight line as he stared at the bloody blade. Someone, he thought to himself, had the ability to severely injure a trained Mossad assassin, something he had never thought to be possible. _And someone has just made a very big mistake_.

He lowered the knife into the plastic evidence bag and sealed it shut. It had been a good thing he always carried spare crime scene gloves; Gibbs would be sure to want to test these for blood or fingerprints, anything that might help find out whoever had done this to their Israeli teammate.

As if on cue, the ex-marine sniper walked into the storage room which had been allocated for NCIS's temporary use. The team leader was looking even more stressed than he had when Tony had first seen him; no doubt the lack of solid leads or good news had been eating away at him.

"What have we got, DiNozzo?"

"You'll be glad to hear our Mossad companion put a damn fight before she landed in this place." Tony replied lightly, trying to ease the tension that was quickly filling the small room. "Our extra field agents called a minute ago from the crime scene. Apart from the massive amount of shattered glass and good liquor being spilt, they found Ziva's pistol in the bar. The magazine was empty and there are apparently bullet marks everywhere near the back. Now I may just be speculating, but if Ziva has to squeeze off even more than a single round…" His light-hearted mood withered under Gibbs stare.

"Um, well anyway, they're sending it over to NCIS for processing immediately. If there's any clue as to who caused that…"

"You can get to the solid leads anytime now, DiNozzo." Gibbs voice reflected both impatience and frustration."

"Right boss. We also have here the three knives that were found on scene when the EMTs got there. I think it's safe to say that all of them belong to Ziva; I got them all sealed and ready to be sent over to the lab. I think we might actually get something off these, something concrete. This one here," he held up the bag closest to him, "was the one removed from her leg, so I think it's safe to say the only DNA we'll get off of it will be Ziva's. That one," he pointed to another bag-enclosed knife, "doesn't appear to have any amounts of blood on it, but we'll send it in to check for trace anyway. The last one here," he held up the final bag, "appears to have small traces of blood on it. That's where we might get lucky; from what I can gather from the doctors, the only knife wound on Ziva's body is the one in her leg, so if my hunch is right, Ziva may have managed to wound her attacker at some point during the fight. If so, we may be able to get a DNA match from the blood on the blade. The bartender said the trench-coated guy waiting for Ziva was wearing leather gloves, so I doubt very much whether we'll get anything in the way of fingerprints off of them. But we'll send all three weapons to the lab and test them all for all possible evidence."

Gibbs gave a curt nod. "Then let's hope at least one of them turns up something conclusive. If we don't get a lock on this guy soon, I'm afraid he may end up finding us before we find him. Since we have all the evidence we are going to get at this stage, I'd better make sure our forensic expert is able to process it." He started to turn towards the door.

"Uh, boss?" Tony interjected. "Isn't Abby still looking after McGee?"

"That's correct, DiNozzo."

"With all due respect Gibbs, I really don't think she's going to want to leave him to process this evidence." Tony looked distinctly worried as he said this. "You know how fond Abby is of Probie. She'll want to stay here with him to make sure he's alright, keep him safe from anything she determines he needs to be kept safe from. That'll probably include half the staff here in the hospital; she's not going to go willingly."

"And if she _doesn't_ process this information," Gibbs replied authoritatively, "for all we know, the guy that did this to him could very well return to finish what she started. We'll make sure there is extra security around both McGee's and Ziva's rooms, and we'll take turns on standby here. If this Asher individual _does_ decide to come around, we'll be ready to confront him. Now if you'll be good enough to call Ducky and tell him to come down here to take Abby back to NCIS, I'm going to go convince her to run some tests back at the lab." He turned back towards the door.

"How are you going to achieve that?" Tony called after him.

Without looking back, Gibbs opened the door and called over his shoulder, "With my powers of persuasion, DiNozzo; you should know how persistent I can be."

Tony shook his head. If there was one thing he could describe Gibbs as, he decided, it was definitely _persistent_.

Striding down the hall, Gibbs felt the confidence he had felt not a moment earlier begin to drain from him like a bathtub. Though he kept up a determined face, he knew Tony was right about one thing; Abby would not leave McGee willingly. He understood completely her reasoning; Abby was very close to the MIT graduate; granted she was close with just about everyone in NCIS, but she especially enjoyed McGee's company. Hard as it was to see sometimes, the Goth scientist had a fondness for him that she had for no one else. If she firmly believed he was in danger, she'd sooner handcuff herself to a nuclear bomb than leave him alone and unprotected. Though knowing Abby, he mused, handcuffs would her idea of a favourite pastime.

With these thoughts still lingering in his head he approached McGee's room. The lone security guard sitting just outside the door looked up as he walked towards him. Gibbs flipped up his badge and, barely waiting for an affirmative nod from the guard, entered the room.

Just as he suspected, Abby was giving McGee her full attention. The forensic scientist was kneeling beside McGee's bed, holding his hand and she gazed down at him. Apparently, Dr. Ralston's orders of no more than five minutes had fallen on deaf ears. Gibbs felt a trickle of humour; Abby was nearly as stubborn as he was, which, he had to admit, was saying something. Her makeup was almost completely washed away, a sure sign that she had been crying again. It wasn't hard to see why; the man known as Timothy McGee was barely unrecognizable under a swath of bandages covering his forehead. An IV and a breathing tube were helping him breathe and keeping the nutrient level in his blood at even levels. Seeing two members of his team under these conditions, Gibbs felt a strong urge to cry himself. This team had become almost like a second family to him. Losing his real one was bad enough; he couldn't imagine losing more of his work one. It had been bad enough when Kate had died; it had been just as bad when Jenny did as well. And that had only been a few weeks ago. He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost another member of his team. Damn it, he'd left the marines partly because he couldn't stand to see so many familiar faces around him perish! Was he doomed to experience death all throughout every chapter of his life?

Swallowing back his tears, he walked forward towards the bed, and said in a low, gentle voice, "Abby?"

The Goth looked up quickly. Judging from her expression, it was clear that she had not heard Gibbs enter the room. "Gibbs!" She bit her lip in an apparent attempt to keep herself together. Her voice shook slightly as she said, "I've been talking to him…just in case he can hear me. I told him that he better wake up really soon because otherwise I won't have anyone else to lecture about messing around with my babies in the lab."

Gibbs gave a small smile. Abby's forensic machines were, indeed, her personal babies. He could picture her telling off McGee as he worked with a confused expression on his face, trying to get the settings on her computer restored to how she wanted them, no matter how much he protested the way he made them was better.

"Abby," he began slowly, "speaking of your lab, the knives belonging to Ziva from the crime scene have finally been collected. There's a distinct possibility we may be able to get something from them that'll tell us whoever did this; fingerprints, DNA, something. And since I happen to know the best lab technician in the entire District of Columbia…"

Abby looked up rapidly. "No," she said just as quickly, "No Gibbs, Timmy needs me. I need to be here for when he wakes up. I need to be here to protect him!"

"Abby," Gibbs gently put his hand on her shoulder. "_No one_ is going to hurt McGee again. I give you my word on that. We've ordered security to be doubled for both here and at Ziva's room. Tony and I are going to rotate shifts to make sure that a friend is always going to be nearby. McGee will be safer this way. And he'll be even safer if you can find out who's responsible for doing this to him."

"But Gibbs, what if I leave and he goes into a coma or something?" Abby's voice literally shook with fear. "What if he wakes up when I'm not here? I need to know how he is when he's able to speak! And what about Ziva? I can't just leave two of my closest friends here!"

"You won't be leaving them here alone." Gibbs voice was firm, yet gentle. "Abby, McGee and Ziva are relying on you to find out who attacked them and put them here. Whoever did this did it for a reason, and until we find out who he is, we'll be no closer to finding out that reason. And we'll be no closer to putting him away for it."

Abby's mouth opened for a second, and then closed. She was silent for a few moments, then she swallowed hard and whispered, "Okay,"

Gibbs smiled. "Okay." She gently began guiding the Goth scientist towards the door. "I told Tony to call Ducky to come and take you back to NCIS. You won't have to go through this alone."

The two exited the room. Standing against the wall, looking serious but focused was Tony. The veteran field agent had apparently been waiting outside the door, not willing to barge in and interrupt the exchange. Upon seeing his two co-workers exit the room, he immediately walked towards them.

"I got through to Ducky, boss." He said quickly. "He's coming over right away to pick up Abby. He should be here in ten or fifteen minutes."

"Alright," Gibbs looked Abby straight in the eye. "Abby, I want you to go down to the reception, and wait for Ducky down there, alright? He'll be here in a quarter of an hour. You stay strong, you hear me?"

Abby nodded. "Yeah. I hear you Gibbs." She started to walk away, and then turned back around. "You _will_ call me if you get any news about McGee? Or about Ziva?"

"You'll be the first to know." Gibbs affirmed. "Just make sure I'm the first to hear about anything concerning the evidence."

Abby nodded again. "You got it." She turned and began to walk slowly down the hall.

The two men stared after her. When she was nearly all the way down the hall, Gibbs asked Tony, "You sent the knives to NCIS?"

"Yeah. One of the junior field runners is taking it back as we speak. Off the record boss, I think you made a good call by having Ducky take Abby back. He's very worried about her state of mind, and he believes Probie wouldn't want her to see him in the condition he's in now."

"It's a bit too late for that." Gibbs replied. "But if McGee is going to get worse, as the doctors fear he may, it's probably for the best then." He looked at his senior field agent. "Have you seen Ziva yet?"

"No, I was waiting until I made sure all the evidence got into safe hands back to NCIS." Tony said grimly. "I was thinking about doing right after you convinced Abby to go back to the lab. Unless, of course…" he gestured back towards McGee's room.

Gibbs shook his head. "McGee's been through enough today; we should let him rest. Besides, if you went, you'd probably get kicked out two minutes later anyway by the ER doctors. No, we'll save another visit for later. Should we go check up on Ziva?"

Tony nodded, and the two men began the walk down the hallway towards the Israeli Mossad officer's room. As in the case of McGee, there was a lone guard outside who looked up as they approached. As they flashed their badges, Gibbs made a mental note to remind the staff to post extra security.

The two men walked up beside Ziva's bed, and as they approached Tony realized what Gibbs had said about stepping through a movie screen. He had always known Ziva to be damn near invincible; a knife-throwing, ass-kicking, martial arts-dealing woman who stumbled over English words with the same apparent ease as she gunned down terrorists. She had seemed to him to be the very definition of invulnerability up until now; even her veiled threats with paper clips towards him had made him chuckle (after he was safely out of range, of course). He hadn't thought anyone could possibly match her in outright combat.

And yet the very same woman lay just in front of him in the hospital bed, her face covered with bruises and scratches, having been stabbed with one of her own knives, while a machine beeped steadily with her heart beat. Tony felt a grim sense of worry inside; after all the times he had tried to get the best of Ziva in their verbal debates, he now felt like he was looking at a shell. This was not the same Ziva he had verbally sparred with almost daily. This was not the same Ziva he constantly corrected over his misuse of English words. This was a ghost- a ghost created by a night stalker.

Lowering his voice, he asked Gibbs, "Do you think she'll be alright boss? In the long-run, I mean?"

Gibbs stared down at his Israeli team member. He knew all too well what Tony was talking about. The situation which had lead to this incident obviously had deep roots in the past; a situation which had been deeply, and probably bitterly, personal. He didn't know what it was; Tony didn't know what it was. The only people who knew for certain were Ziva and whoever she had clashed with this evening. This Asher-individual, if that was indeed his real name, had gone to a lot of trouble to bait Ziva into a vulnerable position; this hadn't been a mere spontaneous decision.

Giving a heavy sigh, Gibbs replied, "I don't know what to think, DiNozzo. Quite frankly, I'm not sure if there is anything _to_ think about right now. We have far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Until we get some solid material to work with, all we'll be doing is guesswork."

"You mean the evidence?"

"Or," replied the ex-marine sniper solemnly, "whatever is going on inside our Mossad companion's head." He sighed again. "And whatever _is_ going on inside her mind is, I'm sure, a painful and difficult experience to relive…"

***

She heard more voices, in the room, right beside her; Gibbs' voice, his forlorn, serious tone vibrating around in her head. And another voice; Tony's. The normally easy-going, worry-free tone of the senior field agent was laced with concern, agitation and, even though she could barely detect it, fear. Even in her dazed semi-conscious state, she felt her heart fill with worry; Tony was one of the most relaxed people she had ever met. If _he_ was worried, that made her very worried as well.

She attempted to listen in, to hear more of their conversation, but their voices were soon drifting into the background. Another set of images pushed themselves to the front of her mind. Another set of memories. Memories of the beginning of that mission in Somalia…

***

_She stared towards the window in the front of the helicopter; the morning sun was just rising in the distance, creating a golden line on the horizon. The African sky was about ready to __bring forth a new day. In Somalia, that usually meant another day of bloodshed and violence, and in Mogadishu, where they were just on the edges of, that would mean they could be caught right in the middle of one of most violent conflicts in the one of the most lawless cities in the entire world._

_Just another day in paradise, she thought. She sat in her chair, recalling her days in the Israel Defence Forces where she was faced with possible urban warfare every single day. She had not relished the necessity of having to kill to stay alive. Oh, she did it without hesitation- in Israel, hesitation almost certainly meant death- but had she enjoyed the overall experience? No, she had not._

_Nor had she particularly enjoyed the missions with the elite, multi-national Hellstorm team of commandos. Certainly these men were among the best trained in the entire world, but their job was to perform the especially dirty tasks of neutralizing any possible threats to the democratic world. Sarajevo had been relatively clean, she decided; rarely any collateral damage there. She had been noticeably dismayed at some of the decisions made in Beirut, and in Damascus she had almost felt the need to interject and stop some things from occurring. Now, on her way to Mogadishu, she had a nagging feeling that she would have to especially keep on her toes, not just from any external threats, but also from any possible internal ones as well…_

_A clicking sound distracted her attention. She turned her head to the left and immediately identified the source. Maj. William Raynes, the Special Air Service's contribution to this grand unit, was cocking and resetting the hammer of his assault rifle, an impressive piece of weaponry similar to those found in the IDF. Raynes, a thirty-one year old Manchester native with a shock of red hair and dark sense of humour, had been the wit of the team, always interjecting with a dry comment every time he found reason to. And in the month of their knowing each other, he had found __many__ reasons to._

_As he continued to click the hammer, he began to talk generally aloud, to no one in particular. "Now this lovely lass right here," he was saying, "is a fine piece of all-British engineering. It can fire fifty rounds per minute, with an average reload time of about seven seconds. You fire on of these," he tapped the weapon, "at one of these extremist bastards, and they'll be down before they've made their peace with Allah." He looked up straight across to the individual sitting across from him. "Course, that is if you have a man who can treat her right. Lucky for all you gents, I __always_ _treat my ladies right."_

_Ziva followed his gaze and set her eyes upon the man sitting across from Raynes, beside her. Her own partner- the man her father claimed to be the most deadly soldier in the history of the Canadian Forces. Asher sat with his head tilted to the side, his eyes half-closed as if he was contemplating the most effective way of closing the Briton's mouth permanently. Like her, he had opted with a short sleeved combat shirt which reached halfway down his well-toned biceps as opposed to the official military uniforms the other members were wearing. In a mock interested tone, brows furrowed, he said, "Wow, that's fascinating, Will." The contemplating face returned. "But I think you're confusing me with someone who actually gives a goddamn."_

_Raynes smiled thinly. "Well, it's not my place to judge, but, in my humble opinion, I would say at least one of us has had his knuckles rapped before about his choice of how to handle a woman in the most delicate of circumstances."_

_Ziva saw Asher tilt his head ever so slightly to the left. Without taking his eyes off of Raynes, he fingered the pistol strapped to his side…_

_Raynes noticed this as well. Slowly, he clicked the hammer of his rifle to the ready-to-fire position…_

_Asher looked on with a bemused look and small smile spreading over his face. Raynes, looking on impassively, casually commented, "Need close-combat training, mate?"_

_The smile grew larger on Asher's face. Ziva, quickly sensing that things could turn ugly at any moment, interjected herself into situation. "Asher," she said authoritatively, "take it easy. Save it for when we're on the ground." _

_The smile remained on the Canadian's face. Staring at him, Ziva heard the gruff voice of the man right across from her speak up. "I can't wait till we get down there. They say you find the best traits you have in the act of natural self-preservation."_

_Ziva looked over to Solmon Mjele, expert survivalist from South Africa's elite Recces division of the military. The black soldier looked like a miniature mountain, sitting next to the relatively average-sized Raynes. Ziva felt a sort of special link to Mjele; Israel and South Africa both experienced massive civil unrest, and as a result felt they shared a common bond that no other members of the team could possibly feel. She had immediately respected his skills in the field, and considered him to be the best man to call when she needed to assess a difficult situation._

_Raynes spoke again: "Strange. I would've thought you would've been reluctant to face your fellow continental brothers."_

"_When a man shoots at you," argued Mjele, "you don't stop to think whether he's black or white, African or otherwise. He's a threat to you, and you have to decide whether you want to remove that threat, or be prepared to die with no one to drag you back home."_

"_Well, when you get to the bottom of it, all the ones who shoot you are extremist parasites." Asher said gravelly. "There is no distinction for that."_

"_That's enough out of you, Ballack!" barked Jack Korella, CIA operative and team leader who was sitting on Ziva's right. "We're almost to the landing zone. Everyone remember the mission; we're trying to find a high-ranking member of the Al-Shabaab terrorist group in Mogadishu by the name of Abu Moktar Raliim. He's believed to be hiding somewhere in the northern part of the city with about twenty of his followers. I want everyone to watch their backs, and watch their trigger fingers as well." He stared in Asher's direction. "We don't need a repetition of Damascus!"_

_Asher gave another smile. "So long as no one decides to try to outrun by bullets, Jack," he said, "that is not likely to happen."_

_Ziva stared at her partner for a moment. While the two of them had known each other for a whole month, she felt like it had been more like a year- a very long, exhausting year. Asher's skills were undeniable; his abilities to use both light and heavy weapons were equally great and she had never seen a deadlier sniper in her entire life. His hand-to-hand combat skills were advanced far beyond his mere twenty-two years of age, and he had quickly become an expert in the advanced assassination techniques she had taught him. A little too quickly, she had originally thought. Yet despite his effectiveness in the field, there was something he was lacking, something that he seemed to be missing. She hadn't noticed it in the first few missions, but after Damascus, she was considering it more strongly._

_For though his skills seemed to increase day by day, the one thing he had that seemed to be decreasing, just as rapidly, was…could it possibly be…_

…_his humanity??? _


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter**** 6**

"What the hell do you _mean_ you can't find any Caf-Pows? How the hell do you expect Abby to do her job?" Gibbs shouted into his cell phone. He stood listening for a few seconds then abruptly started up again. "Palmer, I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. We have three junior field operatives dead; dead, you hear me? You know, like those in the morgue you cut up on a day to day basis every day of your glorious life? Dead! On top of that, we have two main squad members severely injured and lying in this hospital…McGee and Ziva…_Yes_, Ziva; you know, as in the Ziva that sits in the main bullpen area and could snap your neck with one flick of her wrist…Oh, _now_ you know what I'm talking about. Well here's something you may not have figured out yet: if Abby doesn't have her daily supply of caffeine, she won't be able to do her work. And if she can't do her work, she won't be able to find out who's responsible for this delightful situation that we find ourselves in. And if she isn't able to find out who's responsible for this, you can order Ducky to start filling out your _own_ autopsy report…You get bet your scrawny ass that I'm serious! If the next time I call NCIS Abby hasn't been able to find anything because of something _you_ couldn't be bothered to do, so help me, you will be _in_ this hospital alongside McGee in intensive care!"

He abruptly terminated the call. Letting out a large sigh, he rubbed his temples with his fingers. This day was really starting to get to him- his nerves had been pushed to the edge and his self-restraint, usually endless, was cracking and teetering. He supposed that was what had caused him to lash out at Palmer like that. He knew technically he shouldn't have; after all, it wasn't Palmer who usually brought Abby her required Caf-Pows, and it sure as hell wasn't his fault that McGee and Ziva were lying in this hospital. Still, sometimes the man just didn't understand how vital and important things were to him, and if it got the results that they so desperately needed, well, the junior ME could use a good scare.

Fingering his cell phone, Gibbs clenched his jaw as he went through the entire scene over in his head: Ziva's frantic phone call to him, finding McGee's bloody and motionless body in the field, seeing Ziva race off unexpectedly and without explanation, and now seeing the near indestructible Mossad assassin beaten like a punching bag. How could this have happened? What could he have done to prevent it? In his mind, he kept blaming himself for it, constantly going over the scenario, trying to figure out what he could have done to prevent this from ever happening. So far, all he'd gotten was a big blank and his own thoughts telling him it was his fault.

With an angry grunt, Gibbs ploughed his fist into the wall; the release of some of the pent up emotion quickly raced through his body, and he felt at least some of the weight on his shoulders lift off. For a second, he felt better than he had in several hours; however, the feeling of relief was suddenly and abruptly cut short when he felt sharp pain roaring through his hand. Gritting his teeth, he clenched and unclenched his fist slowly in an effort to deaden it.

"I really hope you're not intending to give yourself a reason to stay in this hospital alongside Ziva and McGee boss." Tony's voice emulated from his right. "I've seen what happens when you're not right up there to take command of the situation; it's not a pretty sight."

Gibbs turned towards the senior field agent, ready to give a scathing comment to him as he usually did, when he stopped himself. Tony was doing his best to lighten the mood as best he could. He desperately wanted to be able to get out and track down the man responsible for putting his agents in here, but he knew that there was nothing he could do until the results of Abby's tests came in. It would be unfair to attack Tony for something he had no control over.

Massaging his hand, Gibbs slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, DiNozzo," he said. "I'm just a little… on the edge. This whole business has got me rattled, and there's not much we can do to ease it."

"We're doing the best we can boss." Tony reminded him. "It's not our fault this happened, and it's not our fault that we can't magically snap our fingers to find a solution to it. There's nothing we could have done differently."

"Isn't there?" Gibbs turned somewhat aggressively towards him. "_I'm_ the team leader, DiNozzo; _I_ decide what actions should be taken and which ones should be avoided. I should have seen this coming! Damn it, it's _my_ responsibility to keep the rest of you straight and not chasing personal vendettas! I should have done something differently- sent you with McGee out to the road, stopped Ziva from going off on her own."

"And how did you plan on doing that?" Tony demanded. "There was no possible way you could have known what happened to McGee would happen. And there's no way you could have prevented Ziva from running off on her own; you know how she gets headstrong about these little idiosyncrasies of hers about relying on no one but herself. Boss, it could just have easily been you or I out there instead of McGee. What if it had been you that was ambushed? I doubt even a terrifying ex-marine sniper like you could have done anymore than McGee could have. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't mine; the only one to blame here is the bastard who put Ziva and McGee in here."

Gibbs stared at Tony for a moment. He knew technically the senior field agent was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. It was _his_ team, _his_ people he was continually asking to put their lives on the line with him every single day. It should have been him going to tell those junior field agents to move their asses towards the house, not McGee. It should have been him that confronted this Asher-individual, not Ziva. And all the responsibility, all the guilt that he had piled up on him was dangerously close to crashing down at any given time.

Drawing himself to full height, he mentally shook off the teetering feeling in his mind and re-entered team leader mode.

"You're right. It's no use reproaching ourselves for something that we had no control over. It'll only worsen our already bad situation. The important thing now is to find whoever did this to our friends and make sure he never sees the light of day again."

Tony nodded, though inside he was a bit taken back by this rather strong rhetoric. Though Gibbs had never been one for niceties, he rarely showed pure, true anger towards someone, and though his voice had not raised at all, his words packed a bigger punch than he heard in a very long time.

He considered saying as much to his commander, but thinking better of it, opted for, "You can say that again boss."

Gibbs nodded himself. "I'm going to go check the security situation on this floor, and make sure that the extra guards I asked for are in place. You stay here in case Abby phones with anything. If we're lucky, she may be able to get a quick lock on this guy, and we'll be one step closer to tracking him down."

_If_, the team leader thought grimly to himself as he began the walk towards his squad members' rooms, _she's able to keep herself from cracking before the data's in her hands_…

***

Abby slowly brought the Caf-Pow to her lips and swallowed what must have been a quarter of the large cup. Jimmy Palmer had arrived with it a few minutes ago, which rather surprised her. Generally she had minimal contact with him, usually because his blundering about disrupted her ever increasing workload. She suspected Gibbs phoned and requested (or, knowing Gibbs, more likely threatened) that he bring her one so that she could concentrate on her work and help track down the mangy bastard responsible for hurting Ziva and McGee.

She felt a familiar wetness in her eyes, and quickly brought her fingers up to wipe it away. She didn't want to start crying again; she had done more than enough of that when she had first heard the news, and then again when she had seen McGee.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Timmy…Someone had hurt her Timmy. She had literally felt her heart stop and her blood run cold when she first heard that he had been attacked and was in serious condition. And then to see him so pale, so vulnerable, so cold in that hospital bed all bandaged up with tubes attached to his body had caused her to lose her self-control once again. After she made it clear to that regulation-following prick of a doctor that she would remain by his side as long as she damn well wanted, she had held his hand and spoke to him, hoping that, by some miracle, he'd be able to hear her and come round. In truth, she didn't want to be in her lab; she wanted to be back at the hospital to watch over him. But Gibbs had made it clear that the key to making him safer was to find out who had done this to him, and the best way to do that was through the evidence left behind.

Letting out a small sniff, she prepared to test her material. The room was strangely and noticeably quieter than usual; she had put on one her many heavy metal CDs when she first arrived hoping it would lighten her mood, but instead found it somewhat out of place, as if it was trying to cover up a feeling of grief that didn't want to be suppressed. In a way, she found it better this way; the quieter, more sombre tone fit with her depressed, worried attitude.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out one of the knives from the evidence bags in front of her. Ziva's knife. The blade of this one was covered in dried blood; normally, this would make her wonder if there was a decent chance of getting any viable DNA off of it at all. This time, however, all she could think about was how whether this blood belonged to her Israeli friend, and if so, how much more had she lost?

She had been shocked when she had heard that Ziva had been rushed to the same hospital as McGee, the result of what she had gathered to be a brutal melee fight. Ziva to her had always been the epitome of invulnerability. Her combat skills were virtually unmatched, and generally, if she decided she wanted to kill someone then they usually got killed. And yet now the Mossad officer lay in a bed similar to McGee's in the same hospital, with injuries from someone who's skills were at least as good as hers. And that scared her; anyone who could something like that to a trained assassin had to have more than just a few lessons in Tae Kwan Doe.

Setting up the computer to start running DNA tests on the bloody knife, she shook her head. A thought passed through her mind; she was thinking it before she even realized it.

_Oh Ziva, what were you thinking?_

***

_She gripped her gun in front of her in the trademark ready position. The newly risen sun beat down on the metal barrel, making it shine in the morning sun. Only eight-thirty in the morning and already she was starting to sweat. The heat b__eamed down on her uncovered head. She instinctively ignored the rising temperature of her scalp. _

_Walking down the small side street near the front of the group, she took a brief moment to take in her surroundings. It was indeed fortunate, she thought to herself, that they had not crossed paths with any civilians. The sight of five heavily armed individuals strolling down the city's streets was likely to cause a panic amongst the residents. Any number of things could happen then; innocent people might be hurt or killed, their target may get away, anything. She was determined that was not going to happen as long as she was there. _

_Moving slowly, she quickly glanced around her to make sure the rest of the team was in the positions they were supposed to be. Asher, holding his pistol in the same position she was holding hers, was walking just a few feet across from her, his machine gun and sniper rifle slung on his back. Being the two most trained in detecting unseen threats, they were the ones who had taken up the frontal position in order to signal the group if they sensed any danger. Korella, scoped automatic rifle in hand, was in the centre, weapon ready to fire at the slightest thing that seemed even remotely threatening. Taking up the rear were Raynes and Mjele, making sure they weren't taken by surprise in the back._

_Ziva kept her eyes and her ears open. So far, their mission had been uneventful. The only sound they had heard had been the occasional rattle of gunfire in the distance. Seeing as how the Al-Shabaab Islamist group that controlled this neighbourhood had imposed a strict curfew on it, there were virtually no civilians out yet. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of gratitude towards an extremist group; keeping the people inside their homes would hopefully keep them safe, at least for the time being._

_Walking forward slowly, Ziva suddenly sensed something- a sound. The shuffle of approaching footsteps, coming from the right of the ally they were coming to the end of. She quickly held up and hand, signalling the rest of the group to stop._

_Korella, still on his toes, immediately dropped down to one knee and aimed his rifle directly ahead. "How many?" he asked under his breath._

"_Three." Asher replied. He was pressed against the right side of the ally, listening attentively. "Low-level mercs, little training." He cocked his pistol. "Time to make them regret that for the rest of their miserable, short lives."_

"_No." Korella said. "No noise. We can't afford to give away our position, or we might have the entire neighbourhood down on us. We need to take them out as quickly and quietly as possible. Everyone against the wall."_

_The rest of the team pressed themselves into the same position Asher had taken up against the far wall. Pulling her knives within her grasp, Ziva listened as the footsteps continued to approach. She knew she had to make the first shot count; take down one up close and personal and then if necessary concentrate on the others._

_The sound of the steps grew louder. Then, a moment later, three militants carrying Kalashnikovs over their shoulders stepped into view. Not bothering to look to their left, they passed by the ally without noticing the five heavily armed squad members. It would be a mistake they would not live to regret._

_Ziva and Asher both sprang at the same time. Ziva pounced like a lion upon the first one; clamping her hand over the merc's mouth, she slashed across his throat with her blade, bringing him down to his knees and then his stomach without a sound. Asher came up behind the second one, caught hold of the merc's rifle and yanked down; caught by the strap slung around his shoulder, the merc was violently pulled backwards into the Canadian's waiting grasp. Catching hold of his head, Asher violently yanked it to the side; there was a loud crack as the man's necked snapped. The JTF2 agent let him fall to the ground, his head twisted at an awkward angle._

_The sole remaining merc heard this happen. Turning around, seeing the two foreigners standing over the bodies of his dead comrades, he started to swing his machine gun up off of his shoulder._

_Ziva reacted fast; she couldn't allow the merc to get a shot off and possibly alert the enemy. In a second her knife was in her hand again, and in the next second it was flying through the air towards the merc's head. It buried itself deep into his throat; he jerked rigidly upwards, seemed to stand upright for a second, and then crashed down to the ground on his back, dead before he made contact._

_Breathing slightly heavier than she would have liked to, Ziva turned to her partner, who was wearing a bemused expression. In a rather irritated voice, she said, "You couldn't have done that a little quieter?"_

_Asher shrugged. "The way's clear, isn't it?"_

"_Yeah, well it may be a little too clear as far as I'm concerned." Korella interjected, coming up behind them as Raynes and Mjele dragged the bodies of two of the mercs into the ally. "The fact we've only come across three scouts means there'll be a lot more surrounding our target. And it seems they may inadvertently end up using the old divide and conquer strategy without realizing it."_

"_Divide and conquer?" Ziva asked curiously._

_Korella pointed in front of him. Along the road, not a hundred feet in front of them were three separate back roads, all going off straight in the same direction._

"_Our intel indicates that these three paths lead to the same square about a click directly north. Since we can't risk our target making an escape down one of those roads, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to split up so we don't miss any ground."_

"_I really don't think that's a good idea." Ziva piped up. "If we separate, we'll all be at a more vulnerable position and could very well end up missing the target anyway."_

"_Oh, what's the matter Ziva?" Asher said in mock concern. "Is the big, bad Mossad assassin afraid to go off without her young partner to watch her back?"_

"_Mind you keep your words to yourself, mate." Raynes interjected. "If she ends having to save your bloody arse, then you'll probably have to swallow them whole."_

_Asher raised an eyebrow at the Briton. "What makes you think I won't ram them down your throat instead?"_

"_That's enough out of all of you." Korella interrupted. "Look, I don't relish the idea of splitting up any more than you do, but at this point I don't think we have a choice. Ballack and David, you two are the best scouts, so you'll take the centre and right roads respectively. Raynes, Mjele and I will take the left one. Any problems, fire a shot in the air. Any questions?" He looked around expectantly. "Good. Now let's move before we waste any more time." He started jogging towards the left path, Raynes and Mjele at his heels._

_Asher slowly walked past Ziva, his bemused expression still on his face. Raising his eyebrows, he murmured as he walked past, "You enjoying yourself yet?" He took off jogging towards his designated path._

_Ziva stared after him for a moment, then slowly turned back towards the remaining merc in the road. Striding unhesitatingly towards him, she bent down and yanked her knife out of his throat. _

_Enjoying herself… Holding the blade up to her face, she watched the blood run down the handle. Tucking it back in her belt, she started towards the right road, and she moved another thought entered her mind._

_The only way anyone could enjoy themselves out here would be if the act of killing gave them some sense of pleasure… _


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_The sand crinkled under her boots, the dusty pathway providing the only source of audible company in the deserted alleyway. The wind had all but died down completely, leaving an eerie sort of silent vacuum in its place. No longer was there the off-distant sound of machine gun fire rattling throughout the air. No longer were there the occasional explosions of RPGs hitting their targets. There was nothing that sounded remotely dangerous in the surrounding environment. There was nothing but her own boots that was causing any noise whatsoever. Nothing but silence._

_That was what was so worrying._

_In her experience, Ziva had never encountered a situation where silence meant anything that foreshadowed a good turn of events. It was a void- emptiness that cloaked what was just beyond the next corner. She didn't like that. In combat, at least she knew what she was facing; she had an idea of how to confront her threat and she could take the necessary steps to neutralize that threat before it could materialize- quickly, cleanly, and with no collateral damage. _

_But there was no confirmed threat that she could see here. No militant present to attack, no gunfire to give her a position. Just a silent threat- the silence which concealed an ever present, yet unknown danger. She could feel it in her gut; all her time spent with Mossad had taught her that if there ever was no sign of a threat at all, it usually meant that there was a very big one that was well concealed. It was these threats that that were the most dangerous; you could be caught off guard at any moment, and if you were unprepared for such an occurrence, you wouldn't be going home at the end of the day._

_How could she describe the situation she now found herself in? Separated from her team, wandering down a long and twisted alleyway which contained nothing but brick walls, a couple of houses on either side, and the occasional rat for company- it was not a situation she relished and would long for on any day of her life. Though the truth was, she felt slightly more at peace here when she was alone, away from the group she had joined at the behest of her father. Even though they were effective as a unit, on a personal level she wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable with her situation. Korella was alright, she decided. The team leader and CIA operative was a highly efficient commander who knew his field work and didn't take any funny business from anyone, including his own squad. It often put him at odds with certain members of the team, but overall he had kept a tight order and was able to bring his squad home alive at the end of each day. She respected him for that._

_Raynes got on her nerves slightly, but she didn't let him get to her. She had known plenty of- what was the expression the British always used?- cheeky individuals in her life, but none quite so capable of spinning endless witty remarks with such apparent ease and with no fear of reproach or punishment from Korella. The Manchester native was a highly efficient marine, there was no question of that, but she often noticed when he made those remarks, he would cast his eyes down first, as if he was almost afraid of showing the first impression he would make when looking directly at the person he was talking to. Then, of course, he would glance up, having gotten himself completely under control, and went back to blabbering on with traditional British humour. It was a weakness, she recognized- a weakness that he was apparently unaware of, and if she could see it, there was a good chance that any enemy he ever may encounter could see it as well._

_Mjele was a study in contrast to her; on one hand he seemed like a well-intentioned soldier whose views of the world had been slightly hardened by all the hardships he had been a part of. On the other hand, he seemed to grow more and more distant with each mission. She didn't get a bad feeling from him- more a feeling of cool disposition. He seemed to withdraw more and more as the days went by. She could understand his situation; the more you immerse yourself into the world of violence and unrest, the more likely you are to remove yourself from the rest of the world and surround yourself with things you have grown accustomed to. It happened far too often in the IDF; she had seen in numerous times- too many times actually. All the disorder and instability you combat on a day-to-day basis, you find yourself drawn to, and even impressed by if you're not careful. She didn't think he had come to that just yet, but you could never tell unless you directly asked the person about it. Once or twice, she'd tried to raise the subject with him, but he had just brushed it and dismissed any allegations about that, saying that hardening is an inescapable fact of life in this business, and that he had the means to keep himself in the real world. That was all very fine but thinking something was a lot different than actually experiencing it. There were times when she wondered about his mental state and whether he was iron-headed as he tried to portray himself._

_And then there was Asher…_

_Ziva frowned. It seemed that whenever she thought of her Canadian partner, all she got was a sense of displeasure and an odd sense of foreboding. It was as if everything she had come to associate with him was somehow steadily working against her. His attitude, she thought definitively, was definitely not one she had come to approve of. His skills, as she admitted to herself for the thousandth time, were unquestionable; she'd even go as far as to say he was nearly a match for her when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Nearly- that was the thing she kept reminding herself. It wasn't a matter of pride; it was a matter of her own safety. Anyone who was at least capable of matching her, she kept her eye on, friend or foe…_

_Which one was Asher truly to her? He was on her team- he was fighting the same enemies as she was- but was he truly __with__ her? She honest to God could not answer that. It seemed that every single time there was a chance to show her up or make her doubt the strict code she followed, he took it. Damascus was a clear example of that. In Damascus, it seemed as is his sole objective was showing that he was better at what he did than her. It seemed as if he was intent on showing her that he was better at what __she__ did than her. That disturbed her. As good as she was at her job, she never tried to prove anything to anyone. She never looked at it as something to give free reign to every time she needed to accomplish a goal. It was a skill that had saved her life when it was danger- that was it. It was not something to show to everyone else as an example of her capabilities. That was the main difference between him and her. The other one, and she had to admit to herself that it scared her a little bit to think of it, was that unlike Asher, she never felt she had to lose her humanity to do what was necessary. She was still her own person- for better or worse. How long ago had he let his own morality, if he ever had any, slip away into the dark abyss of chaos?_

_These questions troubled her greatly. Walking along the alley with her gun held in the ready position between her legs, she wondered if there was even a possibility that this mission could be accomplished without repetitions of the last one. Knowing Asher as she did, she was beginning to think that was a complete impossibility. _

_Keeping her eyes on the path, she took notice of her surroundings. The alleyway, which had been running straight for several hundred metres, had a sharp curve to right, the cracked brick wall giving way to a solid yellow one which seemed to carry on past the corner._

_Ziva gripped her gun tightly. According to the intelligence gathered, the square which the three paths the team members had split up to take should be just around this very corner. The reconnaissance photos taken prior to the mission had indicated it was a large open space with a single road leading towards the building occupied by the target. During her assessment, she had calculated that it was a very high risk area with little in the way of cover and a very good area for snipers. Ziva wasn't sure how well trained any militants they encountered would be in sniper attacks, but she wasn't willing to leave anything to chance._

_Pressing herself against the wall just beside the opening to the square she took a deep breath. Gripping her gun tightly in front of her, she looked directly in front of her, waited a single moment, and then quickly spun around the wall, aiming the gun directly in front of her._

_She stopped dead in her tracks._

_There are few things a field operative can train for. They can train for combat, train to resist interrogation, train for any possible obstacle that is placed in their way. It is what they are supposed to do, what they should do, what they __need__ to do in order to accomplish their goals._

_But few things can prepare you for what affects your mind. What you see in this line of work and how it affects you are entirely up to chance. If you're capable, you can get past it and move on without suffering any lasting effects. _

_How many people can confidently say that they are capable of seeing an entire square filled with bodies lying everywhere, all badly massacred, some alight and still on fire, right in front of their eyes? Civilian bodies? Those of women and children among them?_

_Ziva could not accurately answer that. In fact, she wasn't sure she could answer that at all. Even if she could, she didn't think she'd believe herself. The fact that she was merely standing in shock at the scene instead of assessing the situation and determining the best course of action confirmed that in her mind._

"_Oh my God…" Ziva wasn't sure if the little voice she had heard was her own voice or the voice in her head. Regardless of which it was, it accurately reflected her own personal view of the situation. What other reaction could she have? Technically, as an experienced Mossad agent, she should have had a calm and collective one, but she wasn't thinking as a Mossad agent now. She was thinking as a human being._

_Holding her gun in one hand, she walked slowly forward towards the nearest body; a little boy, probably no more than eight years old, lying on his stomach facing towards her. His eyes stared blankly into her own, lifeless, as though searching for answers. Ziva felt like he was asking her personally, _'Why did this happen to me? What did I do?'._You existed, little one__, she thought. __You existed__. _

_Kneeling beside the boy's body, she slowly brought her hand towards his face and brushed her fingers over it. She was a little surprised, and then slightly sickened, to discover that his body was still warm. Her first thought, that of a Mossad officer, was that this meant that he had been dead only a short while and that whoever had killed him could still be close by. Her second thought, that of a human being, was what she could have done to prevent this, to save the life of not only this young innocent kid, but also the countless other people that now lay scattered like trash in this square. If she could only have __moved__ faster, instead of being slowed down by her own personal thoughts and concerns, she might have been able to stop this massacre from ever taking place. __Could__ she have stopped it from happening? That was a question that would haunt her for the rest of her life._

_Staring back into the boy's eyes, Ziva tightened her mouth into thin line. This was something she had seen before, but for some reason it had never had such an impact on her. She wondered if the boy had met his end quickly and painlessly, hoping that was indeed the case. For a moment, she was glad that she couldn't see his front, as there were no apparent injuries to back part of his body; she was worried about what she may discover if she were to turn him over._

_Lost in thought for a second, Ziva's attention was suddenly distracted again. There was something that had caught her almost unaware- a sound of some kind not so far from the square. Her Mossad instincts and mind immediately took over; she quickly spun around and held her gun at a ready position. _

_There was nothing and no one in the square, except for herself and the countless corpses. Nothing to confront, nothing to shoot at. Yet she was sure she was not mistaken; she had definitely heard a noise somewhere close to her. She couldn't see it, but it was certainly there. The unseen threat was almost as bad as the unendurable silence she had not long ago been concerned about. The only difference is, with this one there was a definite threat. While she could prepare slightly for that, she had no idea of exactly what she was facing. All she knew was that she was in a wide open space with virtually no cover and no way of escape that was secure- a very, very bad position to be in._

_Keeping her gun in front of her, she suddenly twisted her head around. She had heard it again- it was growing stronger; a steady rumble and low roar. An increasingly intense noise that seemed to converging upon the square. _

_Ziva looked back and forth, twisting her head in one direction after another. Although the noise was definitely growing stronger, she had no idea where it was coming from. With no definite lock on which direction she should cover, she had no way of keeping herself from being completely exposed to the threat. She felt the hairs on the back of her scalp begin to rise up in fear…_

_Breathing rapidly, she listened as the roar continued to get louder. She hesitated for a moment, racking her brain frantically, trying to determine what the sound was. It was so very familiar. It sounded very much like…_

_Her mind expelled the words _motorcycle engine_ a split second before it occurred. The low rumble suddenly turned into a loud roar, emanating from right behind her. Whipping around, she saw it- a huge motorcycle flying through the air right towards her. It had seemingly come out of nowhere, rising from the depths of hell like demonic creature. Focusing her eyes on the bike, she noticed the rider was carrying a very large machete in one of his hands. He swung it downwards as he descended, the blade coming right towards her face…_

_Ziva threw herself to the side just in the nick of time. She heard the crash of the motorcycle land just a few feet away from her, followed by the roar of the engine as it sped past. Rolling on the ground several times, she got herself into a kneeling position, aiming her gun towards the rider. _

_The motorcycle stopped about thirty metres away from her and spun around. The rider, brandishing the machete in the air, let out a shout in Somali._

_Ziva's eyes zipped away from the original target, focusing on the sole path towards the target area. A second biker had appeared, revving his bike engine. This one had no machete, but that didn't ease her mind one bit. Hearing another engine roar behind her, she turned around just in time to see another rider with a machete come at her full speed. She just barely moved out of the way in time as the machete was coming towards her head._

_There were now at least half a dozen motorcycles, some of the riders brandishing machetes in the square now, zooming all around her, navigating not so carefully between the bodies lying in the square. Ziva stood up and whipped her gun around. She swore under her breath; no hope of landing a clear shot on any of them. The blur of them racing around her was kicking up quite a bit of dust, obscuring her view, rendering her pistol training largely useless._

_Ziva spun around again. Two of the riders, both with machetes, were now lined side by side, accelerating towards her at a frightening speed. Taking aim, she squeezed off a round from her pistol, followed by another. Continuing to fire, she heard the rounds bounce off the motorcycles, but it did nothing to stop or slow them down. Unable to get a clear shot at the actual attackers, she could do little to actually eliminate the threat. Gritting her teeth, she flung herself to the left just before the bikes ran her over. She landed hard on her left shoulder, and clenched her teeth as she felt a wave of pain soar through the affected area. She ignored it and willed herself to stand._

_Looking around her, she knew she would never be able to fight off all these enemies by herself. The odds were just too much- she had finally run into an obstacle she could not surpass. She had been wrong- it __was__ an external threat that she would end up being taken down by. It was this threat that would be the very last one she ever encountered…_

_Turning to the left, she saw a lone rider speeding towards her at top speed. Drawing in a deep breath, she prepared her weapon. She would not let her fear overwhelm her, she decided. If she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting._

_Then, as if on cue, it happened. The rider, speeding towards her with a maniacal look in his eye, suddenly flew off the bike to the side, his face consumed by a cloud of his own blood. He rolled around several times before coming to a permanent stop. The bike fell to its side, skidding off away from her._

_Brows furrowed, moth slightly open, Ziva looked around in confusion. Though she could see no one, there was no mistaking what had just happened- someone had just shot the rider dead clean off his bike._

_On the other side of the square, the sniper re-adjusted his focus and peered down the scope. Another rider was zooming from the opposite direction towards Ziva. Taking aim, he coolly focused on his target and pulled the trigger. A loud crack echoed throughout the square and the rider, hit directly in the chest, flew backwards in a back flip off the motorcycle, dead before he hit the ground._

_Ziva spun her head in the direction of the noise, where she saw the cause for sudden turn of events. On the other side of the square, crouching behind the burnt-out wreck of a car was Asher. His sniper rifle resting on the car's hood, he had a look on his face that ranged somewhere between determination and satisfaction as he squeezed off another shot. A machete wielding rider was hit directly in the chest and was blown backwards right off the bike. A second biker, right behind this one, couldn't turn fast enough and hit the first rider's body head-on. The bike flipped over so that the wheels were facing upward. There was a sickening crack as the rider was crushed under the mass of metal._

_Catching her breath, Ziva turned around and saw the rest of the unit racing into the centre towards her position. Korella was keeping the front covered while Raynes and Mjele watched the back and covered the left and right areas respectfully._

_Across the square, a small smile crossed the lips of Asher as he pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle again. The bullet exited the barrel and seemed to move in slow motion, spinning round and round, like a heat-seeking missile, before it finally struck the gas tank of one of the motorcycles. The entire bike suddenly exploded and burst into flame, sending the alight rider flying through the air._

_Ziva, mesmerized by the scene, was suddenly brought to reality when she heard the roar of another bike behind her. Turning around, she saw the rider zoom directly towards her. Acting quickly, she brought her pistol up in front of her and quickly squeezed off three rounds. They all hit dead centre, and the biker crumbled off the bike, sending it spinning out of harm's way._

_Hearing another roar, she whirled around to see the final biker about fifty feet away, revving his engine up for one large charge._

_Taking aim at him, she pulled the trigger, but the hammer merely clicked, signalling the magazine was empty. Letting out a cry of frustration, she pulled the gun close to her and pulled out the useless magazine. _

_The rider swerved his back wheel back and forth, preparing for the attack…_

_Ziva looked up just as the biker punched the gas pedal, racing towards her at top speed. She sharply drew in a breath as she watched the biker zoom directly towards her. She could see the wild-eyed look on his face as he prepared to run her down like an animal…_

_There was a sudden crack and the biker, hit in the back of the head, flew forwards off his bike, landing on the dusty ground. The motorcycle was skidding across the square and crashed heavily into a wall. _

_Standing on the other side, Korella slowly lowered his scoped assault rifle, a look of- she'd have to say __pride__ on his face._

_Nodding towards her direction to Raynes and Mjele, the three quickly jogged over towards her. Ziva, slightly out of breath, but otherwise alright except for the pained shoulder, walked over to greet them._

"_I can't say how good it is to see you, sir." Ziva said truthfully._

"_I can't say how glad I am to see you in one piece, David." Korella's voice was half-concern, half-business. "We raced here as soon as we heard the commotion." He stared at towards all the bodies. "Unfortunately, it looks like we arrived too late for a good many innocent people."_

"_Speaking of which, just what the hell happened here?" Raynes asked earnestly._

"_The reach of al-Shabaab," rumbled Mjele. "Extremist bastards kill anyone who remotely disagrees with their harsh interpretation of Islamic law, even if they have to do it Rwandan-style."_

"_But, there are __dozens__ of bodies here!" Ziva exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Children among them! What harm do children do to them?"_

"_The new generation," replied the South African. "If they don't get them quickly, they may start thinking for themselves." His mouth formed a tight line. "And we all know the biggest threat to any group that suppresses anything is free thought."_

"_Be that as it may," interrupted Korella, "I still wish we could have gotten here sooner."_

"_You're getting slow on your feet, Jack." Asher's voice interjected. Ziva turned to see her partner saunter towards the group, in no rush, still carrying his sniper rifle with a bemused expression on his face. "Your kill tally is getting lower with each mission- one terrorist out of, what, seven?" He scoffed. "I expected better from a CIA operative."_

"_This is not a goddamn contest Ballack!" Korella barked. "We're out here trying to stop extremist militants and terrorists from launching attacks against innocent people- both in our countries and in theirs- not to see how many kills we can get in a day. I would advise you to keep that in mind and watch what you do and say __very__ carefully. If not, I might just feel the need to remove any __internal__ threats we face as well as external ones __permanently__! Is that clear?"_

_Asher, his face rather impartial and still looking bemused, replied, "Chrystal."_

"_Alright." The American turned back to the rest of the squad. "Now, the way the intel has been presented, the target is in his safe house approximately half a click to the north. The only path to it is down that alley." He pointed to the opposite side of the square. "And since it's a pretty safe guess that we lost the element of surprise during our little interruption here, I'd advise you all to prepare yourselves for the fight ahead. David," He looked towards Ziva. "Take a moment to collect yourself, and then join us at the entrance to the alleyway."_

_Ziva nodded. "Understood sir."_

_Korella motioned to Raynes and Mjele. "Let's go, guys."_

_Ziva took several deep breaths. That had been a little __too__ close for comfort; at least her comfort. She had missed dying by a tiny margin that time. And she was in no mood to experience that again anytime soon._

_She turned towards Asher, who was still holding his rifle and looking at her with a look of the upmost interest. She felt her frustration level increase. Part of the reason she had come so close to death was because of __him__ and his uncaring attitude. She had no patience for anyone who didn't tackle such situations seriously._

_Walking towards him, she said in an irritated voice, "Speaking of being slow on your feet, you sure took your time getting here!"_

_A smile creased his face. "I always made far better entrances than you," he replied, pointing towards her._

"_And what entrances would those be, Asher?" Ziva asked heatedly. "The one that involves coming to the aid of your teammate at the very last second? Or the one that involves massacring every living thing in sight?"_

"_Enjoy it while you can, old partner." Asher's tone was smooth, as was his face. "Sooner or later, the time __is__ going to come. And one day," he raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "I'm not going to be there to help you."_

_Throwing him a cool glance, Ziva walked past him towards the exit alley. Behind her, she heard the Canadian continue to talk._

"_But don't worry; you've got nothing to fear. Why should you? After all, you're exactly like __me__. You just haven't realized it yet…" _


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Gibbs thumbed his cell phone impatiently, twisting and turning it over in his hand. For the third time in fifteen minutes he considered calling Abby back at NCIS in order to check to see if she had any news for him regarding the case. The lack of information was especially frustrating to him; while he was used to waiting for results, he had never gotten quite used to it, nor did he like it. He wanted to able to track down the person responsible for killing three NCIS agents and severely injuring two of his top team members, and the sooner they knew who he was, the sooner he'd be able to track him down. But he knew it would be unwise to interrupt Abby before she was ready, and any phone call he made would only delay her tests. Besides, she had hurt greatly; seeing McGee in the state he was in had not been easy on her; she was bound to go slower than she normally would, even if she didn't want to. He silently cursed himself for thinking so selfishly and briefly considered head-slapping himself for it. He settled for jamming his phone into his pocket and gritting his teeth.

Leaning back against the wall, he felt the migraine in his skull begin to build in intensity. He had had it ever since he had argued for a good ten minutes with hospital security over the required measures needed for McGee and Ziva. Apparently they didn't consider two severely injured NCIS agents worthy of more than one security guard each, even though Gibbs had made it blatantly clear that 1) these two agents were _his_ agents, and when he wanted something done for them he expected it to be done; 2) that a single individual was responsible for them being here in the first place, and that if this person could do that to two trained operatives, one of them an Israeli Mossad assassin, who knew what the hell he could do to a couple of mere security guards; and 3) that if they _didn't_ get more security personnel to ensure their safety, immediately, they would soon find out exactly what a former marine sniper was capable of in close combat. After he'd argued, fought and threatened for ten entire minutes, he had finally got an assurance that more adequate measures would be taken and had strode back into the hall to await any news from NCIS.

Rubbing his temples in an attempt to clear his mind, he stared down the hall towards Ziva's room; Tony was still with her, watching anxiously over her condition, making sure it did not get any worse. The ER doctors had just entered into McGee's room, explaining that it was vital that he not be stressed any more than absolutely necessary, and had basically ignored his requests to receive an update on the MIT graduate's condition, which had annoyed him beyond belief. He only hoped Tony was having more luck and not having to put up with frequent reminders about how important it was that 'the patients', as the doctors so colourfully described them, not be disturbed any more than need be.

In truth, he had to give Tony his due; the man had kept his cool, even in the face of uncertainty and strain, and had not strayed far from where he was needed for a second. He wished he had the senior field agent's remarkable talent for not showing his frustration, even though he knew he had to be brimming with it just as much as he was. Tony, he decided, was an anomaly of sorts; he had no end of teases that he constantly hurled towards McGee (and Ziva when he was fairly certain she had no paperclips nearby), yet he showed more concern for them than just about anyone else- certainly more the ER doctors, who most likely considered this no more than a standard case. Well, this was _his_ team, damn it! And there was nothing standard from his perspective about _his_ team.

He was just considering going back to have another run at the attendants about McGee's condition when he heard the familiar ring coming from his pocket- his cell phone. He immediately dug into his pocket and pulled it out; normally he rarely thought much of it when he casually flipped it open and answered it but right now, that was the only thing that was on his mind. If it meant what he thought it meant, it could be the break he was looking for.

Flipping it open and pressing to his ear, he said, curtly and quickly, "Yeah?"

"Gibbs?"

"Abby!" Gibbs immediately pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Are the tests completed? Did they give us anything that we can use?"

"They're completed and they did give us something. In fact, they gave us a little more than I even imagined."

Gibbs paused, arrested by the peculiar tone of Abby's voice, as well as her choice of words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's something really, _really_ weird going on here, Gibbs. I mean, what I've seen shouldn't even be _possible_. It's- it's flat out scary." Abby sounded distinctively strange; even in her upset state this was not the reaction he expected. Something was definitely bothering the Goth scientist, even more than the attacks on the team.

"Abby, you're going to have to be more specific; _what_ exactly is scary? Are you alright? Do you feel like you're in danger?"

"No, I'm fine Gibbs- it's the test results."

"What about them? Did they return a positive match?"

"They returned a lot more than just a positive match. It's difficult to explain over the phone; you're going to have to come down here. You really need to see it for yourself."

Gibbs frowned to himself. He was more than slightly disturbed at the tone of Abby's voice; normally whenever she requested he come down the lab to check her results in person, it was so she could beam and emphasize her knack for coming up with the impossible, which more often than not happened almost all the time. Yet now she seemed very hesitant about her results, even fearful, and it sounded as though she wanted him to come down himself and make sure she wasn't going crazy. At that moment, he wondered whether he had been wrong to ask her to process evidence so soon after she had had such a traumatic experience. Had he been so caught up in his work frame of mind and his desire for immediate justice that he had completely disregarded the well-being of his remaining team members? He should not have asked this of Abby when he knew she was in the state of mind she was in, and he for the second time in a short while he found himself resisting slapping his own head in self-reproach.

Clearing his throat and getting himself back under control, he said in a calm voice, "Alright Abby, I'll be right over. You hang in there, alright? I'll be at NCIS in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Just keep everything as it is."

He hung up and put the phone back into his pocket. Immediately he walked towards Ziva's room, and, acknowledging the fact that the hospital staff had finally gotten off their asses and placed extra security outside his team members' rooms, swept defiantly passed them through the doorway.

Tony looked up surprised. "Boss! What's going on?"

"Abby just called; she's gotten test results on the weapons found at the scene, and she wants me to come down to take a look at them. I'm going back to NCIS; you're in charge here until I get back."

"Understood, boss."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs' tone arrested him for a brief moment. "Being in charge here means that you're responsible for ensuring everything goes as it's supposed to. That includes keeping an eye on Ziva and McGee's conditions. The slightest change and you're to call me immediately. Make sure the security levels remain high on both of them; if anything happens to either because of a sense of laziness of hesitation on your part, you're going to have far worse than just a head slap to worry about when I find out. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded. "Perfectly, boss." He knew this was not a threat from Gibbs- well, not too much of one anyway- but rather an expression of concern. Gibbs cared about his team far more than he led them to believe, and Tony respected that. Besides, if anything _did_ happen to Ziva and McGee because of something he did or didn't do, Gibbs wouldn't need to do anything to him- he would've already done it to himself.

With an approving grunt, Gibbs walked out of the room, leaving Tony alone with his unconscious partner.

He stared down at her, taking in the paleness of her face and the frailness of her figure. Ziva as he knew her would not need his protection- or at least, she would claim to not need it. She was used to taking care of herself, and she wasn't used to relying on anyone else for protection. That was one of things he most appreciated about her, though he rarely missed an opportunity to tease her if it presented itself. Now, lying in bed, it seemed all he wanted was to see the old Ziva back on her feet, kicking ass and messing up English words. Hell, he even wanted her to be able to threaten him right now; then at least he'd know she was aware of what was going on around her. Instead he saw a wounded shadow, a woman he didn't know and, if he hung around her long enough, wasn't sure he'd really like.

Taking in a deep breath, he resigned himself to his duties. He'd promised Gibbs he would watch over his two friends, and he was damn sure going to keep that promise.

He was sure Abby would have found something conclusive- something that would tell them who the bastard that did this was. And even if she hadn't, he wouldn't rest until he'd found out himself. He would get to the bottom of this by himself it he had to.

Even if it killed him.

***

Gibbs tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator took him down from the bullpen to Abby's lab. It was frustrating enough, he thought, that he had to put up with tiresome doctors and incompetent security guards when the lives of his squad mates were in danger; it had been even worse when the entire section of traffic in front of him on the way decided to slow to a crawl with no possible way to get around it. Now he was forced to deal with an elevator system that seemed to move slower every time he used it, and that was on the verge of sending him right over the edge. Maybe it was just that he was in a much bigger rush than usual and everything seemed slower in relation, but dammit sometimes things just didn't _work_ the way they were supposed to!

He breathed a silent sigh of relief as the elevator doors finally slid open and he strolled through into the lab. Normally upon entering, he was greeted by the sound of loud heavy metal music being played at full volume and he'd have to either bellow at the top of his lungs or turn the music of himself in order to get her attention. Now all he heard was a hollow silence and his own footsteps echoing throughout the room.

"Abby?"

Getting no response, Gibbs walked through the lab; the lights were down quite low, creating a rather dark, sombre atmosphere. Though he wasn't entirely sure why, but instead of being concerned about it, it strangely gave him a sense of peace. In a way, Gibbs realized, it reflected his own mood; one that was cloaked in a sense of helplessness and foreboding. Knowing Abby, it meant she was retreating into a part of her mind where she felt most at home.

Walking over to her computer station, he stared at the scene before him. Abby stood right behind her desk, staring forward; her eyes, though open, seemed to be glazed over, as if staring off into another zone. Her face was totally blank, devoid of any emotion. She did not seem acknowledge his approach, even when he placed a hand on her trembling shoulder.

"Abby? Are you alright?"

Continuing to stare straight ahead, Abby's lips parted, just a fraction, and she said in a small voice, "What kind of person is this, Gibbs?"

Gibbs' brow furrowed. "What kind of person…?" His voice trailed away.

In the same small tone, she went on. "I've seen this team face challenge after challenge. I've lost friends and colleagues to this job. I've thought that sometimes the tensions that simmer under the surface would break it apart. And each time, I've seen this team pull through and succeed. I've never had any reason to doubt it." She turned her head slowly and stared at him. "And now I find out that my own job may be the thing that finally breaks it apart for good."

Gibbs stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Abby took a deep breath and turned back to the computer. "I ran the tests on Ziva's knives from the scene." She pressed several keys and the screen changed. "The fingerprint analyses were what you'd expected; apart from some smudges the only distinguishable prints on it are Ziva's own. If what I've heard is true, and whoever did this was wearing gloves, then that's not surprising." She pressed some another keys and another screen appeared. "As far as the DNA analysis goes, one knife was completely clean- no blood whatsoever." She clicked another key. "The second knife had two separate sets of DNA on it; two different blood groups. Which means either Ziva frequently forgets to clean her blades after she uses them or…"

"Or else the blood belongs to both Ziva and her attacker." Gibbs said slowly. "Which makes sense; Tony said that Ziva had one knife wound, on her leg. She wounded her attacker, who then stabbed her with her own weapon." He shook his head. "I never would have imagined."

"Unfortunately, the separate DNA strands are too badly damaged to get any viable evidence from them." Abby responded. "This brings us to Knife Number Three. And this is what I was talking about when I said things were really weird." She hit another key. "It appears the sneaking scumbag who did this has his own personal defence system."

Gibbs stared at her. "I'm sorry?"

Abby stared back. "Gibbs, every time I tried to run the DNA, the chemicals that I applied to the blood sample were obliterated!"

"Abby, you're not speaking sense!"

"I really wish that was the case, Gibbs." Abby stared right into his eyes. "I wish I could convince myself that I was going crazy and that this whole thing was in my head." She paused. "But the fact of the matter is that it's as real as the tattoo on my back."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Abby went, seemingly oblivious to it. "There is something in the blood sample that is completely and instantly neutralizing any chemical I add to it; like the CIA's anti-virus program cranked up to its absolute maximum and running on steroids! Either my test chemicals have decided to go completely whacko, or else this guy has a regeneration system that would make the Black Death look like a minor allergen!"

"You're saying this guy has healing capabilities beyond that of any normal human?" Gibbs stared off into space, and when he spoke again it was more to himself than to her. "That would explain why we didn't find any large amounts of blood at the scene. His regeneration system must heal any injuries he sustains in a matter of seconds." He stared back at her. "But Abby, that's physically impossible! What you're talking about _can't_ be true! It- it's just not _possible_!"

"That's what I originally thought as well." The Goth scientist cocked her head. "Until I finally managed to salvage enough DNA to put it in the system. And when the bastard you're searching for is in the line of work he's in," she hit another key on the keyboard, "suddenly things start to make a little more sense."

Gibbs looked back at the system as an image flashed onto the screen, a list of information alongside it. His eyes narrowed as he studied the face of the young man with the trimmed beard and short hair.

"Asher Ballack," the ex-marine sniper read off the screen. "Canadian subject, born November 17, 1982 in Calgary, Alberta. Father was a German-Canadian, mother was an Israeli diplomat stationed in Ottawa. Joined the Canadian Forces at age eighteen," he looked closer, "and according to these stats, he has technical scores that far surpass anything for his level of experience."

"I figured those sniper scores would catch your eye." Abby now started to smile a little. Looking up just in time to catch it, Gibbs felt some measure of relief; having any part of the old Abby back was definitely spirit-lifting. "And I also thought you should know that I'm not completely off the top of my game yet. Naturally, on my first try to go deeper into the history of the bastard, I came up against a little firewall. Lucky for you," she gave him a larger smile, "America's greatest forensic specialist knows a few tricks of the trade herself. And," she clicked the mouse, "it just so happens there are a few more secrets hidden behind the Great Firewall."

Gibbs looked back to the screen. "I think you're right. According to this, Ballack joined JTF2 just two years after being a full time soldier."

"JTF2?"

"Joint Task Force 2." Gibbs responded. "It's an elite branch of the Canadian Forces that's responsible for combating terrorism- like the Canadian version of Delta Force. I've worked with a few of their operatives; they're among the best trained in the world. To join this group at age twenty, this guy must have really impressed some of the upper brass." He looked up at Abby. "But what does this have to do with Ziva? What's his connection to her?"

"That's the tricky part." Abby frowned. "There's another series of electronic barricades I haven't been able to crack yet. Whatever this guy did after he joined is still in the dark right now."

"But whatever it is," Gibbs declared, straightening up, "that's where we'll find our answer. Good work, Abby. Keep trying to break through that firewall. The sooner we get past it, the sooner we'll be to catching this guy." He pulled out his cell phone and began dialling.

***

Tony brought his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. "DiNozzo."

"It's me." Gibbs' voice came through. "We got a lock on this guy's identity." He gave Tony a brief rundown of the information as it was yet known.

"Well, at least we know the bartender wasn't being crazy when he mentioned the name 'Asher'." Tony said after Gibbs had finished. "What about his history for the last three years?"

"We don't know yet. There's a firewall blocking access to the remaining information. Abby's trying to break through it, but it's going to take some time. She's good, but unfortunately she's not McGee." There was a pause. "By the way, how are things going down there?"

"McGee's still unconscious, and the ER personnel are still monitoring him." Tony replied in a slightly strained tone. "They're not going to say much until they get a better understanding of how bad his injuries are."

"Damn it. What's _taking_ them so long?" Gibbs sighed. "Never mind, I'm sure they're doing all they can. What about Ziva?"

"That's the thing, boss." Tony stared down at his Israeli partner. "Physically, she seems to be improving. But whatever's going on her mind right now may not be quite as pleasant."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that anyone with any sense of perception would think she's having a really traumatic experience. Certainly her own body thinks so."

"Speak sense, DiNozzo."

"The fact of the matter is boss, I think what's she's experiencing is affecting her heart at a very personal level. So personal in fact," he paused as he stared down Ziva's dampening cheeks, "I think she's _crying_…"


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_The transmitter in Ziva's ear beeped, and Korella's voice came through loud and clear, as though the CIA operative was standing right next to her. "Seven hostiles visible from the front side of the building. Everybody steady- no one make a move until ordered to. David, what's the situation from the east side?"_

_Ziva put her hand up towards her face to block out the sun, her eyes scouring the area in front of the one-storey building that had been designated as the one the target was last seen to be holed up in. Given the number of guards placed around, and likely inside it, there was a good chance that he was still inside. Ziva paused for a second; it seemed to be too straightforward. A militant leader holed up in a safe house with a few bodyguards would be understandable. A single militant leader barricaded inside a building with at least twenty heavily armed followers was just a little out of character, even if this man was one of the senior members of the al-Shabaab terrorist organization responsible for much of the violence in the city. There was something more to this whole situation- something which she felt was nagging at the back of her mind, like the feeling she had when something was about to go amiss. _

_Pondering this thought, she put her hand up to her ear and responded, "Five visible hostiles from the east side. They look to be under-trained and under-equipped- probably low level militiamen. Requesting status reports on the other team members."_

_There was a click and Raynes' voice came through. "West side is sporting five members as well. They're probably not expecting an attack from either side since there's no visible entrance. Bastards are in for a nasty surprise. Mjele, how's things looking out back?"_

"_Three militants guarding the rear. Little surprising considering there's a back door visible that appears to be unsecured. No matter; if they're going to give us a weakness, we may as well exploit it."_

"_Alright, listen carefully," Korella said. "This is how it's going to go down: we attack them from all sides and try to overwhelm them in as quickly a manner as possible. Once all outside threats have been neutralized we proceed inside. Raynes, David and I will take the front entrance while Mjele and Ballack enter through the back. Speaking of which, is our trigger-happy JTF2 companion in position? Asher, report. Are you ready to go?"_

_Asher's low, gravelly voice came through at once. "Oh yeah," the Canadian sounded completely at ease, as though speaking about an upcoming night at the bar watching a hockey game. "It's game time."_

"_We go in __easy__ Asher, remember?" Ziva spoke into her own transmitter, her cautious voice reflecting her own thoughts and concerns. "We have no idea who or what may be in that building, so we have make sure there's no more collateral damage than absolutely necessary. We don't need another situation like Syria on our hands, so we need to keep this clean."_

"_You worry about your own blood-covered hands Ziva," responded Asher coolly, "and I'll worry about mine. Make sure you don't get ambushed before we get inside the house. That reminds me; Mjele- you've got a clearer view of the back than I do. There may be only three guards but there's always something you overlook, something you can't plan for. You're sure there's no surprises awaiting me?"_

"_Uh, let me double-check." There was a momentary pause. "Nope, nothing I can see."_

"'_Nothing I can see?'" Asher's voice reflected annoyance as much as it did incredulousness. "You're not inspiring my confidence. I think you'd be just a little bit more thorough if was __your__ ass that had to go charging in first."_

"_You have a problem with how I do my job in the field, Ballack?"_

"_Yeah. I do."_

"_Alright, cut the chatter, both of you!" Korella's voice interjected itself into the heated discussion. "We have a mission to complete here, and the longer we stay out here talking, the more likely it is the target may escape. We can't afford that to happen, so we better focus on the situation at hand."_

"_Roger that. Mjele out."_

"_Ballack out."_

"_Watch yourselves; I'm going to take out as many of the guards in the front as possible. Right afterwards, all units open fire. Remember, our top priority is capturing Raliim alive. Watch your fire! And that goes double for when we get into close combat range. Steady."_

_There was a pause as the American temporarily cut off the communication. Crouched in her position about twenty yards from the house, hidden in the bushes with her gun in hand, Ziva slowly and silently moved one of her hands up to her throat. Her fingers clasped the golden Star of David around her neck and she began to pray under her breath in Hebrew. Many times, she had prayed to Yahweh that she would come out of her mission alive, that she would live to see her home country endure another day without violence because of her actions. Now, however, much of her prayers were directed towards her honour, and the man who had sent her to ensure Israel would not experience terrorism from external sources._

"_Please Papa," she murmured, "let my contribution be to the benefit of the State of Israel. If I must sacrifice myself for there to be peace in our homeland, let my sacrifice not be in vain."_

_She fell silent for a moment, her breaths long and protracted. She tried to imagine that her prayers had been answered, and that Yahweh would ensure she would make it through the day alive._

_A beep in her ear broke her from the trance. "Prepare yourself. This is going to get loud."_

_Ziva tensed up, waiting. In her experience, the word 'loud' was taken to a whole new level with Korella. The man didn't use his heavy weapons often, but when he did, he definitely made his presence felt. She gripped her gun tightly in anticipation._

_There was a silence for about three seconds. Then, all of sudden, there was a large click, followed by a high whistling sound, like one of the rockets she had heard so often in Israel just seconds before they hit the ground and exploded._

_This was no rocket or missile being fired from a mortar, but the sound was nearly identical. In fact, she could almost picture the explosive grenade being ejected from the CIA agent's assault rifle, sailing through the air, seeking out the greatest number of targets as it sung its high tune of death._

_The explosion echoed through the air, blocking every other sound, rattling around the neighbourhood for miles around. There was a massive flash of fire from the front of the house, and the entire building shook as pieces of brick and body parts flew everywhere. Smoke swept around the corner, the thick dark cover obscuring any clear view of the north entrance. The remaining mercs gave shouts of surprise and shock, swinging their machine guns around in a vain attempt to locate the perpetrator of this sudden act of violence._

_There was a click in her ear and Korella's voice vibrated, "Open fire! Open fire!"_

_Ziva immediately stood up and fired her pistol at the five militants in front of her on the east side of the building. Two of them received direct head shots and went down instantly. The third reacted a bit more quickly, crouching down and aiming his weapon at her, she squeezed off three more rounds which hit him the chest, the last of which pierced his heart. Dropping his gun, he crumpled to the ground on his back, nevermore a threat._

_There was a large explosion on the other side of the house, followed by the sound of a machine gun unleashing its fury, and Ziva had a pretty good idea that the militants there had just had a grenade thrown at them by the ever-opportunistic Raynes. The one that weren't lucky enough to be killed instantly quickly bit the dust as well, courtesy of the Briton's 'lovely lass' of an assault rifle. From the back of the house, there were more gunshots, and she could picture Mjele and Asher finishing off the three on the south side._

_The two remaining militiamen in front of her brought their guns up to their shoulders and began firing. Ziva threw herself to the side, rolling over and over to avoid getting hit as the bullets kicked up clouds of dust right behind her. Moving her eyes towards her enemies' position, she caught sight of an opening and fired off her last round. It struck the leftmost merc in the upper chest. Letting out a cry of pain, he buckled but didn't drop down. _

_Quickly holstering her weapon, she drew one of her knives and sent it flying through the air. It struck the wounded militiaman in the heart; his knees buckling beneath him, he sent one last blind look towards Ziva before falling for the last time._

_Temporarily pausing to catch her breath, Ziva didn't see the last merc leap towards her. By the time she caught sight of him again, he was ramming the length of his gun across her chest. Ziva fell backwards and landed heavily onto her back. The merc leapt onto her prostrate body, moving his assault rifle towards her throat. She quickly grabbed the rifle with both her hands in an attempt to keep the weapon away from pressing onto her windpipe. The merc gritted his teeth and pressed down, trying to choke the life out of the Mossad officer._

_Her jaw clenched tightly, Ziva used every ounce of her strength in order to keep the separation between her and the rifle; her shoulders and forearms burned as the muscles strained in a massive effort to keep a safe distance between the two. She could feel her arms falter and knew she could not win in a direct physical test of strength with the militiaman; he was bigger and stronger than her, and seemed to sense his advantage as he pressed down further towards her neck._

_In an act of desperation, using her Krav Maga training of using any means possible to overcome your opponent, she slammed her palm into his noise. The merc let out a cry of pain and, for a brief moment, eased up the pressure he was exerting on her. Quick as a flash, she brought her knees up and, using her legs, kicked the merc off her body. He backed up into a standing position, and she used the opportunity to get to her feet. With both of them still holding onto the rifle, she shot out a foot and slammed it into his kneecap. The bone cracked loudly and the mercenary, howling in agony, crumpled to one knee. Ziva immediately took up position behind him and grasped him in a tight headlock. Gritting her teeth, she could feel him fighting against her, straining, trying desperately to throw her off. But she kept her vice-like grip on his neck and, sliding one hand over to his shoulder, she grasped his chin with her other one. With a deep internal breath, she pulled her hands in opposite directions. There was a sickening crack as the merc's neck snapped like a twig, and his desperate attempts to get free abruptly stopped. Ziva released him, and his body crumpled to the ground, his head twisted at a very awkward angle. _

_Breathing heavily, she took a second to draw her pistol and reload before hurrying to the front of the house, where Korella and Raynes were already taking up position. In addition to killing every single militiaman near the front entrance, the rocket propelled grenade had blown a large hole in the wall, completely obliterating the door, and leaving the entrance wide open and exposed. Korella entered first, followed by Raynes and Ziva. _

_As she stepped through the doorway, Ziva could see past into the adjoining room where the back exit lead. The door to this exit was abruptly kicked open and in strode Asher, a hungry, animalistic look on his face. He quickly seized one merc that was trapped by the door into a tight headlock. Whirling around, he drew his pistol and squeezed off two direct headshots to the other mercs on the other side of the room. He threw the remaining militant to the ground on his back and, holding his pistol up in the air, hesitated, appearing to be making up his mind about something. _

_Then a large grin spread over his face; he tossed his gun to the side and rammed his fingers into the vital spots on the young merc's neck, effectively blocking off the flow of blood to his brain. The merc stared at the Canadian, a look of wide-eyed shock and terror upon his face. He tried to speak, but only a low, gasping wheeze escaped his throat. Asher stood impassively by, a look of satisfaction shining off of him like a light, as he watched the life drain slowly and painfully out of the man. A few moments passed. Then, with one final gasp for breath, the merc fell backwards, the look of fear and pain etched over his face in the mask of death._

_Ziva felt a churning feeling grow in her stomach. It wasn't the actual act that bothered her; she'd seen the move done enough times with lethal consequences that she instinctively ignored the less than pleasant feeling she got from it. It was the __way__ she had seen it done this time that gave her a stop. Whenever she had used that move, it had always been as a method of survival; to save her life or the lives of her companions or innocent civilians. Sparingly as she did it, it was always done as quickly and cleanly as possible, with no room for error. She did not enjoy it, but she did it._

_But she had __never__, ever stood by and watched the process be completed with a look of self-satisfaction on her face. She had never taken in the moment, drinking it up as though it were a gift from God. To watch a person die painfully and slowly with a sense of pride took someone with no soul to do it. To do that took a person with no heart and no sense of morality. She was not that person- she never had been- but looking at her partner and seeing the look of indifference on his face, she wondered whether she had finally met one who was._

_Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Mjele, who entered through the back door and promptly aimed his rifle at the side of the room. It was only then that Ziva noticed that there were still some occupants of the house that remained alive; a middle-aged man, a woman of about the same age, and a thin boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen years old. From the back of her memory, Ziva recognized the man as their target, Abu Moktar Raliim, and remembering the background information they had received knew that he had a wife and teenaged son. All three of them were in a sitting or crouching position, their expressions ranging from fear to confusion at the sight of these foreign invaders with their heavy-duty weapons. Staring at their faces, Ziva wasn't sure if they were aware of the seriousness of the situation, but if not they were in for a massive learning experience._

_Korella strode to into the room while Mjele kept him covered. Kneeling down before Raliim so he could be eye-to-eye with him, the American said, "Alright buddy, let's cut right to the chase. I'm pretty sure you can't understand me, and I damn sure can't understand you. Fortunately, I have a couple friends here who can help us with any translation issues. First thing you should know is that all you're militiamen are dead, so there's no one left to help you."_

_Asher rapidly translated Korella's words into Arabic. Ziva, being fluent in the language herself, perked her ears up; Asher was known for his unpredictable behaviour. If he decided to take certain liberties with anything Korella said, she'd be right on top of it._

_Raliim offered no response to this declaration so Korella went on. "Your arms and explosives that you distribute to your militia kill hundreds of innocent Somalis every week. Your militants ambush and slaughter any type of humanitarian effort intended to help alleviate the suffering of your own countrymen and women. And now we learn that your group is using these weapons to attack any Western presence in the country. I want to know where these weapons are coming from. Who's selling them to you?"_

_Raliim's face contorted into a snarl as Ballack translated. He let out a stream of fluent Arabic right into the CIA agent's face, shouting with gusto and glory. When the tirade was over, Korella looked back towards Asher questioningly. The JTF2 agent responded, with a rather bemused look on his face, "He says that the weapons were gifts from God himself, and that al-Shabaab will use them to drive the corrupt, foreign forces and their infidel Western backers out of Somalia forever."_

_Korella turned back towards Raliim and said, rather tersely, "I don't give a goddamn if he met God in person in his entire life. Those weapons are killing innocent people. Your group has links to al-Qaeda that plot attacks in the Western world and elsewhere. I suggest you stop beating around the bush and answer my question before I run out of patience."_

_Raliim listened to Asher's translation, then unleashed another tirade at Korella. When it was finished, Asher replied, "He says that the blood of thousands of innocent Muslims is on our hands, and that every Westerner killed will be God's gift to reward the Islamic world for its courageous resistance."_

_Ziva frowned. Though the context of the translation was more or less accurate, she noticed Asher had changed a few of the words and added a bit of dialogue that wasn't in the original, presumably to stir things up to a greater extent. She didn't appreciate that, and was considering jumping in to point this out to Korella when the American spoke up. "Really. Well, Mr. Raliim, while I'm sure you're more or less comfortable talking here, I'm not quite so sure how comfortable you'd be should we decide to move you to __our__ home turf. Where would you like to go? Poland? The Czech Republic? I hear Guantanamo Bay's really sunny this time of year. This is your last chance to tell me where those weapons are coming from. One more smart answer, and we're going to take a little road trip with you."_

_Asher knelt down beside Korella, and when he spoke to Raliim, it was very quietly. Nevertheless, Ziva's keen ears could pick up his words, and when she heard him speak, her head spun around in shock._

"Listen very carefully, old man. Our job here is to take you down, no matter what the cost. Right now, you have information that we need, and since you refuse to talk, we're just going to have to find a way to convince you. Now, tell me something: how much are the lives of your wife and son worth in comparison to a few money-grubbing parasites in the Middle East?"

_Ziva stared at him. Asher had another look of satisfaction and pleasure on his face, as though he relished the thought of threatening the man with the lives of his family. That was going too far, she felt. The woman and boy had done nothing to indicate they were implicit in the man's terrorist activities. Asher had no right to make such claims. She was just about to point this out to Korella when Raliim muttered out a few short sentences. The team leader looked at Asher, who, sighing and standing upright, accurately translated, "He says he doesn't know where the weapons come from; they just arrive by port and he picks them up for distribution."_

_There was a tense, unbelieving silence in the room. Then Ziva unexpectedly interjected, "He's telling the truth."_

_Four surprised pairs of heads turned and looked at the Israeli agent. Korella, a sceptical look on his face, asked, "How do you possibly know that, David?"_

"_Because I've been trained to tell when a person is lying." Ziva responded. "And when they're telling the truth. He is being truthful about the origin of the weapons."_

"_Really?" Asher's dry tone cut through the air. "Well, that is a shame. It seems we came out here all the way for nothing." He turned around and faced the other way with his back to everyone else. "Then again, maybe it was not in vain; after all, this is a major terrorist individual, who's taking advantage of this lawless country." He paused for a second. "And I suppose in a country with no order," he said slowly, "no one misses a few random individuals."_

_In what almost seemed like slow motion, he spun around. Ziva saw the pistol come up in his hand; there was a flash of light and a large bang, and the next thing she knew Raliim's forehead had exploded in a red mist. The terrorist remained sitting up for a brief second, then fell backwards towards the ground, dead before impact._

_There was a series of explosions in the room; the screams of Raliim's wife and son, the bellows from Mjele, the colourful language spurting from Raynes. Korella seemed poised to leap towards the Canadian but before the CIA agent could move, Asher had squeezed off another round and Raliim's wife dropped to the ground beside her husband._

_Ziva stood paralysed by the scene. She urged herself to move and stop Ballack before the entire house was turned into a bloodbath, but for some reason she couldn't get her legs working. Her eyes darting around, she saw Asher move across the room and grab the young boy in an inescapable headlock. It was this act that finally snapped her out of her state of shock._

"_ASHEERRRRRRRR!!!"_

_Only semi-conscious of her actions, Ziva found herself leaping across the room. She grabbed Asher's right hand, which was bringing his pistol towards the boy's head. Quick as a flash, she pressed her index and middle fingers into his neck, right into a vital spot. The Canadian promptly stopped his attack and turned his head to look at Ziva, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. The hold she had on him wasn't lethal but it did cause him enough discomfort for him stop all attempts at killing._

_Breathing heavily, she said in a dangerously low tone, "Don't you even __think__ about it!" She stared right into his eyes. "This is not what we joined this group to do."_

_Asher continued to stare at her, his eyes starting to cloud over at his former partner. Ziva said authoritatively "Let him go."_

_The JTF2 agent didn't move, but only continued to look with increasing hostility towards his partner. Still speaking dangerously low, Ziva added, "Don't forget Asher, that I only need __one__ shot to take you down. Canada's most deadly soldier or not, you still have never faced a trained Mossad officer, and believe me," she raised her eyebrows, "you're not ready for that." Her expression hardened. "Let him go." There was a pause. "Let him go!"_

_Then, in that moment, Ziva saw look come across Asher's face; a look of pure hatred and rage directed right at her. Though it sent a chill up her spine, she refused to show it. Slowly, he released the boy, who went tumbling to the ground. Ziva released her hold._

_The two of them looked around at their other teammates. Though none of them moved a muscle, none of them seemed to be breathing. They all watched in a tense silence, as though the slightest movement or sound could cause the whole situation to erupt into chaos._

_Breathing heavily, Asher looked around, and then stared directly at Ziva. "What do you think you're doing?" His face reflecting his tone of voice, he went on. "We've finally picked up some good leads here- don't go screwing this up."_

"_It's enough Asher," Ziva shook her head in disagreement. "It's enough. We've done enough."_

_Asher stared at her. "Who the hell do you think you are? In case you've forgotten, this is our job." He cocked his head. "Or maybe you'd rather wait until one of these parasites slips into your beloved Israel with a nuclear bomb and obliterates Jerusalem or Tel Aviv?" He raised his eyebrows. "Is __that__ what you want?"_

_Standing her ground against the larger individual, Ziva said firmly, "I'm done."_

_Asher furrowed his brows. In an equally low tone, Ziva added, "And you and I- we're through."_

_Ballack stared at the Israeli, a mixture of disbelief and anger on his face. Without another word, Ziva turned away and began walking towards the exit. She had nearly reached it when she heard Asher's voice. "Ziva!"_

_She stopped and slowly turned back around to face him. Raising his eyebrows and shaking his head, he said, "We can't just let you quit like this…"_

_Ziva scowled. She had heard too many voices tell that she couldn't quit at all, no matter what the situation was. This time, she was not letting this take control of her life._

_Without a word, she reached into one of her combat pockets and pulled out her Hellstorm designated dog tag that she almost never wore in combat, with the words '__**David. Israel**_' _along with a serial number. She pitched into to the ground, where it landed just in front of Asher's feet. Staring at it for a second, he brought his eyes back up to meet hers. Giving him one final stare, she turned around and headed outside. _

"_Ziva!" She ignored his calls. "Ziva!"_

_Walking about the carnage outside, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. A tear leaked out of her eye- the first one for her in a very long time- as she reflected on her own morality. Did she have any left? How could she after giving that animal the skills he needed to in order to massacre innocent people? If there was a God, she thought, she hoped He would speak to her now, tell her if any of this was her fault. Tell her if there was any way she could undo anything she had done. _

_Instead, all she heard were Asher's words to her: 'You're exactly like __me__. You just haven't realized it yet…'_

_Yet…_

_Yet…_

_Yet…_

***

Ziva's eyes flashed open, the bright lights above her temporarily distorting her sense of direction. When her head finally cleared, she took in the sight before her: she was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. The beeping of her heart-rate monitor went up significantly as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Her mind whirling around at a hundred miles an hour, she murmured, more aloud than to herself, "_He wants me to find him_…"

The cunning bastard had tracked her down. How she did not yet know, but he had. And he had done so for a specific purpose. There was a reason he had not killed her- if he had truly wanted to, he could have done so a thousand times over. This was sport to him, she figured. _He's taunting me, begging me to find him, just like he found me. He wants to prove he's better than me at everything I can do_. _Well, if that's the way he wants it, then that's the way he's going to receive it_.

With a renewed effort, she pulled all the wires and tubes out of her body, ignoring any feelings of pain by focusing on the fact that the machine had finally stopped beating and giving her a headache. She was just pulling herself out of bed when a nurse came running into the room.

"Miss David," she exclaimed, pronouncing her last name the wrong way, "What do you think you're doing? You can't just get up and leave your room."

"First of all, it's pronounced 'Da-veed,'" Ziva said rather annoyed. "And second of all, yes I _can_ leave. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking more than that. I'm leaving the hospital."

"You can't!" The nurse flustered. "You're under strict doctor's order to not leave this hospital for several days! There are tests that need to be run…"

"Tell your doctor that I am a consenting adult of sound mind." Ziva interrupted. "I have much more important things to worry about than tests. Pain is something I have grown accustomed to working through. I can handle anything that comes my way."

"But it's against hospital regulations…"

"Listen carefully," Ziva got right up in the nurse's face. "I have had a very, _very_ bad day! And when I have bad days, I tend to take it out on whoever gets on my nerves." She tilted her head. "So unless you want to get on my bad side," she raised her eyebrows, "I suggest you stop shrieking about your regulations and get me my clothes…"

***

Tony was standing against the wall, trying for the third time to get through to NCIS for any new information that might help then, when he saw a whirlwind in the form of Ziva march out of her room and start walking quickly away from him.

"Ziva!" He pocketed his phone and started after her. Without looking back at him, she called back at him, "Stay out of my way, Tony; I've got a large score to settle and I'd prefer if you were not the one I decided to settle it with!"

"Ziva, we know about Asher Ballack!" He struggled to keep pace. "We know he's a member of the Canadian Joint Task Force 2 and we know he's one of the most dangerous people ever to come out of the Great White North."

"If that's all you know, you'll be better off not knowing the rest of what he's done." She didn't as much as slow down. "This is a personal issue between me and him; do not get involved in things you don't understand!"

"I would understand if you'd just let me! Tell me who this guy- Ziva, wait!" He jogged up alongside her, trying to keep up. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to track down that murdering bastard and kill him!" Ziva said venomously.

"Uh, Earth to Ziva!" Tony responded. "Newsflash: you just tried doing that and it nearly got you killed! Whatever he did to you, you can't face him alone. Tell us what's going on, and we'll solve this as a team. What did this guy do to you in the past? Why'd he decide to come after you?"

"This issue between Asher and I is far more personal than you could ever imagine!" Ziva whirled around and stared Tony right in the eye. "There are things that I don't even understand about this! What makes you think you or anyone else could help me at all?"

"Because it's our job." Tony replied firmly. "It's our job as a team to overcome anything we come upon, no matter what the challenge. And if you can't get past your independent streak long enough to realize that, then you're not half the person I thought you were." He stared at her sternly. "Besides, the least you can do is let Gibbs know that he no longer has to wring his hands in agony, trying to find some kind of connection between you and Ballack. He's so pent-up with guilt over forcing Abby to do lab work at a time like this that he's considering head-slapping himself. And what about McGee? Or have you forgotten about him already in your quest for vengeance?"

Ziva hesitated. She knew was right; in her desire to make Asher pay for his acts, she had completely neglected McGee's condition. She had left it to chance that Gibbs and the rest of the team would make sure he was under safe enough conditions before she went off on her hunt for Ballack. That was inexcusable; McGee was a close co-worker and friend, and she shouldn't have left him alone like that. What if the others had arrived too late? Would McGee even still be alive? She didn't know, but she did know that right now her teammates were a little more important than her sociopathic ex-partner. She couldn't isolate them again. She just couldn't.

"Fine." She said curtly. "But if I were you, I'd prepare myself for what I will tell you. It's a long, complex story with a lot of graphic detail."

"What's so bad about that?"

She stared unblinkingly at him. "I'm going to be driving us back to NCIS while I'm telling it."


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Gibbs inhaled deeply as he watched Abby type away furiously on her computer, her fingers dancing across the keyboard straining to keep up with her technical mind spinning out facts and codes at a hundred miles an hour. He could literally see the frustration etching itself across her face as she came up against roadblock after roadblock, the path leading to the information they needed barricaded against them accessing it. The firewall on the database containing the rest of the information on the recently-identified Asher Ballack was too large for her to penetrate it, so instead she was having a crack at the laptop computer retrieved from the house of Dr. Barry Goldstein. Gibbs' theory was that, assuming that Ballack was responsible for the doctor's untimely and violent demise, there was a good chance there was a link between them, and that since the death of Goldstein and the attack on Ziva had taken place in the space of just over an hour, the Canadian must have had a reason for the timing of his actions. There was as good a chance as any that the key to the missing piece of the puzzle was hidden away on the laptop, and if there was any possibility that it would give them any kind of clue that would help them then it was worth the wait.

Although considering the grunts of frustration coming from the Goth scientist, Gibbs wasn't entirely sure she was willing to wait any longer for her results. He felt both amused and concerned at the same time; Abby's determination to get results was unparalleled and when she got upset and frustrated because she couldn't find them, it affected everyone on the team, especially him. He felt a wave of sympathy for her pass through him, and he found himself wishing he could do more to help her. Though, knowing his own technical skills (or perhaps a better term would be 'lack thereof' would be more accurate), he would probably destroy the entire system and push their efforts back even further.

"How are things going Abby?" he asked cautiously.

The scientist grimaced. "Have you ever had one of those days Gibbs where no matter _how_ hard you work all you come up with is one blank space after another?" She twisted her head around and looked at him. "Well I wish to hell this was one of those days!"

"That bad, huh?"

"'Bad' doesn't even begin to describe it! I must have tried every single hacker trick I knew. This doctor must have been deep in some serious stuff, or else he's ultra-worried about what anyone might find if they looked through his webcam videos! Which, if what the report on him was accurate, isn't saying very much."

"He was a military researcher." Gibbs explained. "He was contracted by the US military and after that by the CIA."

"Oh well, that solves it then! The CIA loves to keep there dirty laundry hidden under a mountain of other suspected dirty laundry! I guess we'll just have to peal back the layers until we actually find the stack that we're looking for."

Gibbs' mouth twitched in amusement at Abby's comparisons. She was right, at least partially. The CIA certainly wasn't much for sticking to law, domestic or international. And they sure as hell weren't very fond of having their dirty secrets- and there were a _hell_ of a lot of them- revealed to anyone else, even a fellow intelligence service. Therefore it wasn't very surprising that they were having such a hard time cracking into Goldstein's computer. If the CIA did have a hand in this somehow, they'd be eager to erase any footprints they'd have left, which was why it was absolutely critical that they get through the firewall as quickly as possible.

"You know what the most annoying thing about hacking is?" Abby said somewhat distractedly, her eyes still glued to the screen as her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Up until about a week ago I would've said the pathetic attempts people make in order to block us from seeing them what they don't want us to see. But right now," she gritted her teeth in frustration, "it's the extraordinary lengths people will go to no matter how vital the information that they have in their possession is! I mean seriously, if this keeps on I might actually start going through tech overload. This is really starting to become a pain in my tattooed…" There was a beep followed by a click, and Abby's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Speaking of which, I might have to go out and get another tattoo alongside that one to celebrate my limitless ingenuity!" She leapt into Gibbs' arms in a massive hug.

"Well done Abby." He kissed her on the cheek. "I told you I knew the most brilliant scientist in the District of Columbia."

"Gibbs," Abby gave a pouting face. "After all I've done I would've thought you could at least have said _only_ the most brilliant scientist in the United States of America!"

"Let's see what data is on here first, and I might consider that." Gibbs' tone was light-hearted even though his overall expression remained serious. "See if we can nail the bastard on the first try. Search for any information on Asher Ballack- hit it right dead centre."

She smirked. "You got it, boss." She typed in the words into the laptop.

The initial search didn't come up with a direct link to anything on the JTF2 agent, which disappointed Gibbs quite largely. However, there was a single entry listed under the search options; a lone file named 'Hellstorm'. The team leader's eyes narrowed. At first it seemed like a very odd name to call a file, but then he remembered of exactly who was part of the puzzle as they understood it. Somehow, he figured, when you put the CIA, Ziva, and Asher Ballack as he was known so far in the same category, a name like that suddenly sounded a lot more fitting.

"Try that file Abby."

Abby opened the file. The screen hiccupped once, and then a series of pictures popped up. Pictures of individuals- five individuals to be exact- along with a bunch of information alongside each photo. Four men and one woman- Ziva.

Abby noticed it as well. Her eyes grew wide and she piped up, "That's Ziva! Gibbs, look at the bottom of the page! There's her picture," she squinted at the screen, "and there's a lot of information on here about her. Stuff even I wasn't aware of! Her birth date, her age, her military history, everything. Was this Goldstein guy keeping some kind of tab on her or something?"

"If he was, he wasn't doing it just to her." Gibbs indicated the screen. "There are four other names here, each with their own vital information. And take a look at who's part of them." He pointed at the screen, to the picture just above Ziva's. To the young man with the short dark hair and shaped stubble beard.

Abby's eyes narrowed. "That's him. That's the bastard who hurt McGee! Just wait until I get my spikes into him!" She spun around to face him. "When we catch him Gibbs, let me have just five minutes with this guy! Please Gibbs, just _five minutes_! I'll have him confessing to 9/11 by that time!"

"Abby…"

"Gibbs, come on- you owe me that much! After what this guy has put all of us through, the least you can do is let me confront him face-to-face!"

"Abby…"

"I promise I'll let you take him in alive!" She stood up straight, her eyes gleaming in a very dangerous way. "As much as I'd like to kill him and leave no forensic evidence behind," she tilted her head in an almost prideful manner, "I'll leave the harsh stuff up to you. Though, just between us, if I ever get an opportunity to slash his throat before you get to him, I'm taking it!"

"I'm afraid it's not going to be as simple as that Abby."

The two spun around at the sound of Tony's voice. The senior field agent was stepping out of the elevator, a rather grim expression on his face. Walking alongside him, looking slightly worse for the wear but trying not to show it, was Ziva.

"Ziva!" Abby rushed over, apparently with the intention of giving her Israeli friend a massive bear hug, but she stopped herself short when she saw the relatively fresh cuts outlining her face. "What are you doing here? I thought the ER doctors said you needed to stay in the hospital for several days!"

"Well, I managed to _convince_ them that I was a little bit better off than they originally thought." Ziva's explanation was not nearly as cryptic as she made it out to be. "Plus, I may have told one of the attending nurses that if she didn't allow me to leave right away, we would play a little game of how many of her fingers she actually needed on a daily basis."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that was wise for you to do? I mean it's been less than twenty-four hours since you were attacked. Maybe you should be taking things a little more slowly."

"I am perfectly fine Gibbs." Ziva said authoritatively. "That is more than I can say for the scumbag Canadian known as Asher Ballack. When I find him, he's going to be wishing humans could heal themselves from having their head cut off!"

"This Ballack," Gibbs said slowly, "he's still very much a mystery to me. I know his early history and the first part of his military records, but I'm guessing the bad blood between you goes slightly deeper than his remarkably high sniper scores."

"You don't know the _half_ of it boss." Tony looked a little green as he walked towards the computer area. Or maybe that was just because he had let Ziva drive back to NCIS in the state of mind she was in.

"Spill it Ziva." Gibbs looked the Mossad agent squarely in the eye. "I need to have full information if I'm going to be able to help bring him down. No more personal vendettas, no more going off to get revenge on anyone, understood? After what happened to both you and McGee, I think the rest of us should capitalize on however many teammates we still have."

Ziva paused, taking a moment to reflect. She had spent some time with McGee before she and Tony left the hospital, watching over him, trying to somehow make him understand that she had never intended for any of this to happen, and hoping he would some day be able to forgive her. Despite the ridicule she seemed to enjoy hurling at him alongside Tony, she had grown to respect and trust the man as much as she had anyone else on the team. Though still the most inexperienced field officer, he was nonetheless improving and becoming a reliable asset in the field. Even after being ambushed and severely beaten by the much more experienced and dangerous Asher, he had shown his will to live and to not give up on his fellow teammates. She appreciated that, and, in a rare show of compassion, had gently held his hand while she murmured a prayer for him in Hebrew. It was her fault he was in the ER in the first place, and she would make sure she would make things right before the end- whenever that may be for her.

Taking a deep breath, Ziva filled Gibbs and Abby in on her entire history with the JTF2 agent, which she had already filled Tony in on the way. She omitted no details; as painful as it was to re-hash that part of her history- a history that she sometimes wondered had brought out her darker side- she knew it was the only way to do it. Tony had been right; she couldn't do this on her own. For the first time in her life, she had to admit to herself that she needed help. And the ones she trusted most to help her were the ones with her in the lab right now. Her teammates- her friends.

When the monologue finally came to an end, the others' reactions were somewhat predictable; Abby's eyes were as wide as saucers, and the Goth scientist continually bit her lip- though whether in a sign of nervousness or to keep it from trembling Ziva didn't know; Gibbs for his part seemed to be processing the information in his mind. His face was more or less blank, and his eyes seemed to be retreating into the depths of his brain in an attempt to make sense of all this.

A couple of minutes passed without anyone speaking. Then Gibbs broke the silence.

"If Abby hadn't come up with the information that she did a little while ago," he said slowly, "I probably would never have believed it. However," he drew himself up, "it seems we may have to put all our scepticism aside for the time being."

"Ziva, are you _sure_ you saw what you say you saw?" Abby's voice was rather incredulous. "I mean, Gibbs is right; this is a little much to take in all at once. From the way you describe it, you make it sound as if back in the bar that Ballack was- was _teleporting_!"

"He was not teleporting." Ziva said firmly. "That is impossible. He was simply moving faster than my brain could process the information, and for that reason it seemed like he was automatically moving from place to place. However, I will admit that it was not anywhere near normal for any human, and I have a very good idea that whatever happened after I left the team has to do with Asher's new found combat abilities."

"But _why_?" Gibbs cut in. "You said from the way he reacted in Mogadishu that he harboured great resentment towards you and your act of stopping him from killing innocent civilians. If he was truly that angry about it, why did he wait for three years before coming after you?"

"I don't know." Ziva said thoughtfully. She frowned, running over ideas in her mind. "Asher said something in the bar about not checking up on the status of my former teammates. How does that tie into anything?"

"Well, since you've been settling down in the good old US of A," Abby interjected, "it seems your teammates have been settling down in the ground for a permanent dirt-nap." She indicated towards the screen. "Check it out."

The others piled around the screen, looking at the information on the other members of Hellstorm. Tony spoke up, "She's right Ziva. From the information stored on this drive it would appear that since your little fall-out with Ballack, your other squad mates have been dropping like flies." He looked closer towards the screen. "Solomon Mjele, South African subject, born in Cape Town September 12, 1973. Member of the elite Recces branch of the South African military. Died November 15, 2004 in Harare, Zimbabwe. COD is listed as a broken neck."

Ziva repressed a shudder that went through her body, and kept her voice calm as she replied, "Asher's master offensive move. It was one of the first things I taught him after being assigned to him." She kept her eyes to the screen, trying not to show the others the guilt that was reflected in them.

"William Raynes." Gibbs picked up. "British subject, born in Manchester, England January 6, 1975. High ranking member of the Royal Marines and British SAS unit. Date of death- June 23, 2006 in London. Official police report indicated that he had died from massive trauma due to some sort of thin object that was rammed right through his torso and out of his back." He raised his eyebrows. "But apparently no such object was ever found. The case is still listed as being open."

An image passed through Ziva's mind- that of the candlestick back in the house of Dr. Goldstein. She recalled the nature of the indentations in its body- four on one side and one on the other. Very much like… finger marks. Her stomach churned as she put the pieces together, and realized, for the first time believed that perhaps Raynes had gotten on Asher's nerves once too many times…

"And here's the case which is most intriguing." Tony's voice cut interrupted her thoughts. "Jack Korella, American, born May 16, 1968 in Atlanta. Former US Army, joined the CIA in '91. And look here; our intelligence friend was killed in Tel Aviv just last week by having his windpipe severed." He paused for a second. "Slain in a mosque, along with two Israeli Mossad agents, a fellow CIA operative and a member of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service." He shook his head. "Our doctor friend here _knew_ what was going on, yet he took no steps for self-defence. Terrible way to end your retirement if you ask me."

"Something about this doesn't fit." Gibbs interjected, scratching his chin. "I mean if these killings were some sort of revenge plot against his former team, why didn't he just kill you? Why go to all this trouble to lure you into a state of vulnerability and then leave you alive at the end of it?"

"He wants to make me suffer." Ziva said curtly. "That's all there is to it; I stopped him from butchering the people he wanted to, and now this he's trying to make me feel the same pain and humiliation that he did on that day."

"I don't know." Gibbs frowned. "I still think there's something about this situation that we don't see, and until we find it we won't truly understand his motives. We need to keep looking. Abby, is there anything else in the file that could give us a clue?"

"Uh, hold on." She squinted at the screen, her eyes searching for anything that caught her attention. "Hold on. There appear to be a few links at the side. I can't be certain, but they look like… audio files."

"Open them." Gibbs instructed. "Anything we find could be useful."

Abby clicked on the first file. Immediately a voice echoed through the speakers, and as Ziva listened to it her heart began to pound.

"_In preparation for the experiment come to be known as Project Hellstorm, the governments of several of the world's democratic states have agreed to lend their top field operatives as part of an international effort in order to combat terrorism and unrest throughout the world. These operatives, who will be sent to various global hotspots, will be monitored during their missions to assess their mental and physical capabilities. After a certain number of missions, providing the candidates are still alive, the operative whose capabilities seem the highest will be selected to partake in Project Hellstorm, in order to create a new fighting weapon in the War on Terrorism. The operatives selected will be representing Canada, the State of Israel, the Republic of South Africa, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the United States of America. As previously logged, I have been in contacts with the heads of the intelligence agencies of the respective countries, all of whom are in agreement with the plan, and have given it their full support."_

As the file finished, everyone in the room took a deep breath. Then Tony asked, "Who was that guy? And what the hell was he talking about- this Project Hellstorm? What's all that?"

"It's Barry Goldstein." Everyone turned to look at Ziva. In the same deadpan voice, she explained. "I never saw him before yesterday, but I did hear his voice once; in Israel, just before we left for Sarajevo, I overheard a speakerphone conversation he was having with… my father."

There was a deathly silence in the room. "Are you saying you're- your own _father_ agreed to let you be put out in the field like some test rat??" Abby's voice practically vibrated with shock. "For some _experiment_??"

"It would seem that way," Gibbs said thoughtfully. "But let's hear the rest of those files."

Abby obligingly clicked the second file. Goldstein's voice once again filled the room.

"_After the first few missions, the individual members of the Hellstorm appear to be adapting well to the harsh conditions that are consistently placed in front of them. The selection of possible candidates for Project Hellstorm will soon become even clearer, especially in light of the fact that the Hellstorm serum is near completion. The drug, which is administered intravenously, significantly increases a subject's strength, speed, agility, and reflexes, as well as maxing out their natural regenerative capabilities to the point where they can heal from just about any type of injury in a matter of seconds. However, in order to be successful, the subject must possess a high tolerance for pain as well as large amount of physical and mental strength. Any person given Hellstorm who does not possess these qualities may experience fatal side affects."_

Ziva frowned. "Well at least that explains what I saw in the bar," she said. "The massively increased combat skills, the ability to withstand a direct knife wound to the neck. Suddenly things are starting to become clearer."

"I don't get it." Gibbs shook his head. "I've worked with JTF2 agents before; each candidate is carefully screened for any mental instability before they are let in. How did they let such a sociopath get into their ranks."

"Asher's the best at what he does." Ziva replied. "Sometimes that means killing terrorists, sometimes that means concealing his real personality. But you can't hide something like that for long- you're challenged on a daily basis, and if you allow it to happen you'll lose your humanity." She gave a sort of chuckle. "Not that he had any to begin with."

"That still doesn't explain much."

"Well, let's see what's behind File Number Three, shall we?" Without waiting for a response, Abby clicked on the last file.

"_The advanced combat and assassination skills possessed by team members Ziva David and Asher Ballack make them ideal candidates for the Hellstorm project, approved this week by the leaders of Mossad and CSIS as an effective weapon against all terrorist organizations worldwide. Both members possess a high degree of physical and mental fitness as well as high tolerance for pain. However, only one can be chosen as the test subject, so the decision will be made following the team's return from Somalia as to which candidate will be selected. The remaining members of the Hellstorm team will subsequently be released from their duties without any knowledge of the Hellstorm Project and instead will be relayed back to their respective organizations to continue the fight against global terrorism."_

The audio clicked shut, and with it most of the air in the room seemed to be sucked up. For about three minutes, no one spoke; all were trying to comprehend what they had just witnessed, as though they had all just woken up from the same dream and were questioning whether it had really happened.

It was Abby who broke the silence. "They were planning to have you as a test subject for that- that _thing_ they were working on…"

"Except that you quit unexpectedly." Tony added.

"And it was given to Ballack." Gibbs finished. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "Who was supposed to use it to combat terrorism and instead turned on his own people, except this time possessing abilities that would make a Navy SEAL look like a reservist. Jesus Christ." He rubbed his eyes exhaustedly.

Ziva didn't know what to say. In truth, she didn't know if there _was_ anything to say. Everything she had learned in the past twenty-four hours she had subconsciously pushed to the back of her mind, wanting to deal with it later. And now, with all this unexpected news, it felt like the wall had just come crashing down. She felt like she was carrying a massive brick wall on her shoulders, threatening to come down and crush her at any given time. And why shouldn't she? After all the times she had put her life on the line- for what? A medical experiment. She had been deceived like a common fool- by her government, by her superiors, by her _father_…

Unsurprisingly, it was Tony who tried to rally everyone up. "Look, this guy may now have some freaky Matrix-powers or whoever the hell he's trying to act like, but we have an advantage. We know who he is and more importantly _what_ he is. That's got to give us some kind of edge , right?"

"Yes, but _where_ is he, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said grimly. "This guy's not just some petty criminal; he's a trained assassin. The longer he stays free, the more dangerous he becomes. How the hell are we supposed to find someone like that?"

"There may be a way." Everyone looked at Abby. "There was one final thing on the drive from the laptop- not a file, just a name. It may be nothing, but…"

"Out with it Abby."

The Goth stood up straight and highlighted a single word at the bottom of the screen near Asher's profile. It was so small, you'd have never noticed it unless you were looking _very_ carefully. Highlighted, it was now completely visible: **AISSEX**.

"AISSEX?" Tony furrowed his brows. "Why does that name seem familiar to me?"

"It's an oil company, DiNozzo." Gibbs explained. "A very large one. In fact, it's the largest one in Eastern Europe and Central Asia. Our government has a few contracts with them; they export a large amount of oil to us for an equally large amount of cash. And if I'm not mistaken, they have an installation right here in D.C."

"But how does this tie in with Asher?" Ziva asked. "In all the time I knew him, he never seemed to show much interest in big oil companies. As a matter of fact, I think he despised them. Said they were disrupting the balance of power throughout the world or something like that."

"Well, I'm not sure how this ties in with your bastard of an ex-partner," Abby said casually, typing something into the main system, "but if you want answers, you could always try asking the CEO of AISSEX." She turned towards them. "I'll bet she could provide a few answers."

Everyone looked forward as the screen changed. A picture flashed onto it, revealing a young woman with whitish-blonde hair and an attractive, if somewhat cold and porcelain face.

"Natalya Russikov." Gibbs read off the screen. "Born in Petrograd, Russian SSR, aged thirty-one. Promoted to CEO of AISSEX three years ago." He narrowed his eyes. "Temporary transported to Washington, D.C. six weeks ago in order to look into several major business dealings in North America."

He looked up. "Well, that's definitely not the lead I was anticipating, but it's worth a shot."

"Yeah, but Gibbs," Tony interjected, "this woman's not just a random individual with a loose connection. We're talking about a majorly important individual here. I highly doubt we'll be able to just walk into her office and ask her if she knows where Ballack is. We don't even know if this information is accurate!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Ziva promptly got up and started walking towards the elevator. "Any lead that could lead me to that bastard is worth pursuing. If the woman decides to give me a cold reception, I'll just have to make sure my questions are as _sharp_ as possible…" She stopped and looked back. "If you want to make sure she is actually able to ask questions, you might just want to come along." She raised her eyebrows. "Shall _I_ drive there?" She headed off towards the elevator, smiling as she heard Gibbs and Tony race after her.

***

The woman held the syringe up to the light. She flicked it with her finger once and the orange liquid rattled around inside it. She smiled; it was perfectly made- right to the instruction. A resounding success. She could feel the sense of pride build up inside her, like a bubble that was increasing with speed as it sped towards the sky, free of any restraint or hindrance. It was one of the most gratifying feelings in the world.

Natalya cast her eyes over to the individual sitting on the bench right beside her, and another feeling filled her; one of lust, of desire- one that sent her heart racing and her palms sweating. Her companion had discarded his sunglasses and his shirt, revealing his ripped, muscular torso. She ran her eye over every muscle, and there were plenty of them, on his chest, his arms, and his back. She felt her heartbeat continue to increase as she said, in a confident voice, "The process was a complete success. The instructions on the CD allowed for a total recopying of the Hellstorm serum, and the changes you requested were added without difficulty."

Her companion, still staring forward, said in a clear voice, "Good."

Slowly, she slid the needle into his muscular forearm and injected the liquid into his bloodstream. Staring up with a small smile on her face, she watched as he let out a low sigh of contentment. "I'm glad that the tests were a success," she said, "but why do you need another injection? I thought you said the effects of Hellstorm were permanent."

"They are." Asher replied in a gravelly tone. "Unfortunately, our recently departed friend Goldstein made sure there were flaws within the structure of the serum- in case anything… _bad_ was to happen." He shook his head. "He really more of a nuisance than anything else. Nonetheless, I am grateful to the way he helped me find out how to recreate Hellstorm…"

"_You seem to believe that you are above other people." Asher walked past the choking Goldstein; blood was still pouring from his mouth and his eyes twitched violently. "What you don't understand is that all you've done is create a stepping stone for truly exceptional individuals. Individuals… like __me__."_

_He strode into Goldstein's bedroom and pulled open the drawer beside his computer. He pursed his lips as he flipped through the dozens of CD cases. Finally, with a smirk of satisfaction, he pulled one of them up and lifted it towards him. Even though it was unmarked, he could sense that this was it; the key to the new world order._

"_And because of exceptional individuals like me," he walked back into the living room, "all you have left is your own self importance." He leaned in close to the largely motionless Goldstein and murmured into his ear. "You believe yourself to be able to choose who becomes a god. That right…" he tilted his head and paused for a second, "…is now mine…"_

Asher's lips tugged upwards at the fond memory of it. Natalya, noticing this, remarked, "But how can you be so confident of success? Your old partner, Ziva David, is still alive. Why? If she is as a great a threat as you describe, why did you let her live?"

"Because Ziva's a large part of this new world order." Asher replied. "Even if she doesn't realize it yet. Don't you worry about her; just make sure you keep your eyes on the end objective."

Natalya raised an eyebrow. "Oh," she purred, "but I have my eye on something much," she traced her finger down his chest, "_much_," down his rock-hard abdomen, "bigger…"

Asher gave a neutral sound from his throat. Natalya went on, "You're going to need a companion; someone to help rule the new order of the world alongside you." She raised another eyebrow. "I think I've proven myself to be worthy to you…"

Asher turned towards her and took her chin in his hand. "You may very well have." His expression remained neutral. "But in the meantime, we have more important things to concern ourselves with. It's time to implement the next stage of our plan." 


	13. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Tony clenched his jaw and subconsciously gripped onto the side handle on the inside of the door to NCIS van. Technically the speed limit on this road was no more than seventy miles an hour. However, if the speedometer was working the way it should, it would appear they were going just a little bit over the legal limit.

Yeah, just a tiny bit.

Like only about twenty-five miles an hour over the limit. No big deal.

Actually that may not have been totally inaccurate. Considering how Ziva normally drove whenever she got behind the wheel of any vehicle, this was actually a pretty average day. Except of course for the fact the Mossad officer was staring directly ahead, her eyes locked onto the road as if it was a gun-wielding terrorist. Tony watched as the muscles in her jaw expanded and contracted at a dangerously high rate of pressure- the indications that she was in an especially formidable mood- and God help the drivers who decided to get in her way while one Asher Ballack, formerly of the Canadian Forces' Joint Task Force 2 branch, was still at large and breathing. In a way, he was almost grateful to Ziva for her aggressive style of operating a vehicle (he couldn't accurately describe it as 'driving'); he had not shut his eyes in twenty-four hours and under normal circumstances the only things that would keep him up at a time like this would be Gibbs' stare or a head slap. Fortunately for him, the Israeli's vicious way of attacking the road as if it were an enemy to be defeated and neutralized was certainly keeping his eyes wide open. He felt as though it might be the very last car ride he'd ever take, if all the people she'd cut off on the way had anything to say about it.

He stole a glance towards the backseat at Gibbs. The former marine sniper was staring directly ahead, eyes barely twitching or blinking as the scenes passed him by. His face as impartial as ever, but perhaps that was because he was used to such driving on a normal basis; the team leader was almost as reckless a driver as Ziva was. Tony had a good idea that Gibbs was just as worried as he was, but was determined not to show it- though he didn't come right out and say it, Tony got the sense he was still blaming himself for what had happened to McGee and the rest of the field agents, and was dead set on making things right, no matter what the cost. This sense of determination was both inspiring and demoralizing to Tony; he felt as though he was battling to keep some sort of middle ground between two headstrong personalities who both blamed themselves and wanted the satisfaction of seeing the person responsible for it locked away where they'd never see the light of day again. He just hoped that once they actually _did_ find Ballack, they wouldn't start fighting for the chance to break his neck first; if that happened, he'd be right in the middle of an out-of-control fireworks show that he would have no idea how to put out. Considering that they had enough problems on their hands to deal with right now, that was not something he would particularly relish being a part of.

As these troubling thoughts continued to pass through his mind, he was suddenly and violently snapped out his trance as Ziva viciously turned the van hard to the right and began heading down a narrow paved road. In the distance, Tony could see a grey building about a quarter of a mile away. Though the building was not larger than that of a normal-sized warehouse, there was a definite presence to it, as thought it breathed and radiated the power within the hands of the person who controlled it. The fact that there were numerous massively large oil tanks surrounding it also probably had at least something to do with its awesome presentation.

"Wow," Tony exclaimed. "AISSEX didn't pull any punches when it decided to invest in its American market. I wonder why they decided to only have one of these installations here in D.C; the Navy could really use all the resources it can get in this day and age."

"The main AISSEX pipeline flows right through Russian territory and the former Soviet republics, DiNozzo." Gibbs answered from the back, sounding just a little irritated. "The majority of the supply serves to provide to them, and the majority of their exports are to Western Europe. As substantial as the amount of oil that comes to the States from pipelines under their control, it's still relatively small compared to their other agreements."

"And the Russian government has not been too pleased at how their American counterparts have been conducting themselves recently." Ziva added, not taking her eyes off the road. "Your reach across the globe has backed them into a corner and forced them to find alternative customers in countries where Washington has less influence in. As a result, they are not overly eager to have business dealings with a state which already has numerous contracts with other companies. It would make them seem less important in the eyes of the world."

"And we all know how much the Russians love being the centre of attention in the world." Tony said lazily. "Well, if you want my opinion they couldn't have chosen a better representative to come over to see how things are done the American way. The way Russian women look at you, you'd swear they were thinking of how you could…" His daydream was abruptly cut off by Gibbs and a slap to the back of the head. He straightened up in his chair. "Sorry boss."

"Be further warned Tony," Ziva said coolly as they drove up towards the plant, "that right now I consider Natalya Russikov to be in league with someone who has killed several good friends of mine and put another one in the hospital. Now if you decide in your infinite wisdom that it is more important on commenting on how frostily attractive she is rather than let me ask the questions that I want," she turned to face him, "I might just start considering putting _you_ in the same category with people who try to obstruct me from tracking the bastard down."

Tony nervously turned forwards and didn't say anything more until the van had pulled up right beside the building. Ziva unexpectedly hit the hand brake and turned the wheel so the vehicle did a 180° turn and was now facing back down the road. As Tony grabbed the handle to prevent himself from going through the passenger's side window, he cast a confused look at Ziva. The Mossad agent merely raised an eyebrow and said, "If Miss Oil Queen decides to try and leave without talking, I'd rather not wait until she's in a fast car to try to turn ourselves back around."

"A very good idea." Gibbs interjected. "But hopefully if we're lucky, we won't need to do that. And yes David," he quickly went on before Ziva could cut in, "I know; we're almost never lucky." He pointed towards the building. "But let's give it a try, shall we?"

The three agents walked up towards the building. There was a single door right in the front of the structure. As they walked up, it occurred to Gibbs that this was certainly not a main office sight. An outpost for oil storage, yes, but there was nothing remotely business-like about it. To him, it seemed that it was far more likely that this facility was used for stock, and that the chances of the CEO actually being here were rather slim. Nevertheless, it was a lead, and if it got them closer to taking down Ballack, he'd do it. Especially when McGee was still lying in God knows what condition back at the hospital. He made a mental note to check up on him after they finished their business up here.

Tony and him reached the door just a moment before Ziva did. Each of them taking up positions on either side, Tony asked casually, "Do you think we should be polite and knock before we enter the domain of the Oil Queen?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, but whether he was going to give a straight answer or a dry remark, Tony never found out; Ziva marched straight up to the door, a dangerous look on her face, and drawing her weapon from her holster, promptly delivered a vicious kick right below the handle. There was a mighty crack and the door swung open on it's hinges, the remnants of the lock indistinguishable from the mangled metal on the doorframe. The Israeli walked in, weapon in hand, and Tony and Gibbs stared at each other for a second.

Then Gibbs shrugged. "Why bother?" The remark was half light-hearted and half-serious.

Drawing their weapons, the two men cautiously followed Ziva into the building. As they entered, Tony's eyes moved around trying to get used to the sudden change in lighting. Though it was certainly not pitch-black the overall mood of the room was noticeably grimmer than the outside. As his eyes readjusted, the senior field agent remarked that the entire building seemed to be housed in one giant room, and as a matter of fact seemed to resemble a warehouse much more than an oil storage facility. On either side of the room, pillars stood within yards of each other reaching to the ceiling. In the middle, two staircases, both leading to a catwalk directly above them, reached out and curved towards the ceiling. The back of the building, unlike the front end had neither a door nor any windows near the top. This lack of light caused the back to have far more in the way of shadow and mystery tan the front, creating an eerie blend of greyness throughout the entire level.

Ziva passed her weapon over the shadows, her eyes searching, darting from the corners of the building to the catwalk above. There was something here- she could _feel_ it. Something was not right about this place- there was just too much that could be left to chance; too many places to be attacked from. The entire place looked like an ambush waiting to happen, and as good as the three of them were, they could not keep an eye on everywhere at the same time.

Moving slowly, each facing a separate direction, the three moved towards the centre of the room, keeping their weapons in front of them. From the way they moved Ziva could tell that Gibbs and Tony had felt the same thing; both seemed a little tenser, a little more cautious.

And they were right to; she had no idea why but she had the strangest feeling that they were being _watched_…

And then, almost as if on cue as this thought passed through her mind, a voice echoed throughout the room. A female voice- young, cool, and accented. "You're every bit as stubborn as he said you'd be."

The three NCIS agents whirled around, pointing their guns around all corners of the room. There was no one in sight, on the ground floor or on the catwalk above them. Yet there could be no mistaking it- all of them had heard it. As she pondered quickly in her head, Ziva realized the voice had sounded as though it had come through a loudspeaker rather than in person. The resulting noise had echoed all throughout the building, making it impossible to pinpoint an exact location.

Then it came again- the cool Russian tone of a woman, speaking accented but perfectly understandable English. She chuckled in a low tone, and then said, "But perhaps not quite as intelligent. Up towards the ceiling, you three- in the middle of the room."

The NCIS agents looked up towards the ceiling, searching for any sign that would indicate where the voice was coming from. Then Tony pointed upwards. "There! Hanging from the catwalk."

Gibbs and Ziva turned to where he was indicating; a large screen, attached to the bottom of the catwalk, had suddenly switched on, and the screen had lit up that section of the ceiling. The image on the screen showed the young, coolly attractive face of Natalya Russikov with a small smile perched on her lips as she observed the three individuals down on the ground. Though she couldn't be seen below her shoulders, she appeared to be wearing a dress of some sort of gold material, along with a rather expensive looking necklace of the same colour. Staring up at the screen, Ziva could understand why she hadn't spotted it before- the darkness surrounding it had concealed it from view, and it was only now that it was lit up and radiating light around the area that she could see it.

And see the woman she believed was connected to Asher… She felt the anger start to boil up inside her heart, but it was Gibbs who put broke their temporary silence.

"Natalya Russikov, I presume?" The ex-marine sniper's voice was calm, but rather testy.

"Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I know." Natalya's voice was every bit as cool as it was previously. "Your reputation is not without its own steps in history; you've made quite the impact on several of the situations you've come into contact with."

"That happens quite frequently." Tony responded. "Especially when those situations affect the people around him. That includes a lot of things- notably ambushing and killing members of our own team. Things like that tend to rank high on his list of personal vendettas to pursue."

"Anthony DiNozzo." Natalya sounded rather amused. "Not quite the charmer you've made yourself out to be. I would have expected you to be a little bit more patient and understanding when speaking with such a… _highly_ sophisticated woman like myself."

"Well, I would've loved to have bought you dinner sometime," Tony replied coolly, "but I'm not really into women who support the killings of innocent men and women, especially when they're my friends."

"You're beginning to sound like those annoying human rights organization whose life ambition is to bring down oil companies." Natalya replied. "Not that your country cares much what they say anyway." She passed her eye over to Ziva. "Ziva David, I believe. It's so very exciting to finally meet you. I've heard so many… interesting stories of your actions. And your… _failures_." She gave another small smile.

"I'm not interested in your opinion of my life story." Ziva's eyes flashed angrily. "Where's Asher?"

Natalya raised an eyebrow. "Asher?"

"Don't lie to me!" Ziva felt the pressure in her head jump by about ten points. "I know you are associated with him. Whatever story he concocted to get you to his side, I really don't care, but I have my own issues with him to deal with! Where is he?"

Natalya gave a low chuckle. "Maybe I'll tell you. Maybe I won't. In the end, it doesn't really matter. He will end up finding you anyway. You and he are both key parts of what this world will end up becoming in just a short while. I expect that's why he's bothered to keep you alive for as long as he has."

Ziva's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about- what the world will end up becoming?"

"The balance of power in the world is shifting forever, Mossad agent. What you and everyone else have gotten so used to experiencing is merely a dream; soon, the world will wake up the fact that how you have been playing with it can no longer be sustained."

"What the hell do you mean?" It was Gibbs who spoke this time.

"In order for one to keep the world in check, they need to have something in order to assist them with it." Natalya continued cryptically. "There are very few things in this world that possess the qualities necessary to achieve it. However, it is not impossible, and partly due to my own capabilities," she drew herself up in a sense of self-important pride, "Asher will soon be the instigator of this new world order. He will use the very thing that transformed him into a _god_," her eyes widened as she re-lived the memory, "and he will decide who will become one along side him to rule this new order. Hellstorm will seize the opportunity and destroy all those who are not worthy!"

"Wait wait- hold on a second." Tony interrupted. "Did you say Hellstorm? The same stuff that was given to Ballack and turned him into a _Matrix_ rip-off? I thought that was all used up three years ago to create that one super soldier who was meant to save the world from terrorism."

"But Goldstein knew how it worked." Ziva's voice was at a dangerous tone; neither Gibbs nor Tony had ever heard her use it, even when she was at her angriest. "He created the serum and he still had the information on how to manufacture it." She glared up at the screen. "Asher didn't just kill him to let me know he was near; he did it to steal the information on Hellstorm's properties. Then he brought it to you, knowing you had the resources to manufacture it on a grand scale."

"You help him by creating a weapon to cause mass destruction," Gibbs continued tersely, "and he offers you some reward for helping him with his insane plane for widespread bloodshed."

"Insane?" Natalya sounded legitimately surprised. She shook her head. "I can assure you that Asher is of perfect sound mind. His plan is absolutely reasonable and logical. I would not have joined him otherwise."

_Says much about your own mind_, Ziva thought dismissively. She really wished Natalya would hurry up and get to the point; the longer she delayed, the greater the chance Asher would get away if he was there.

And as though she could read Ziva's mind, the Russian remarked, "To be frank, all of you have really wasted valuable time coming here." Natalya looked pitifully down upon the group. "In case you're still wondering, Asher is not anywhere in or near this facility. And neither if you must know am I." She felt up a fingernail to her face and examined it for any imperfections. "I am an important person who does not have the time to deal with lowly individuals such as yourselves. Well," she paused, "two lowly individuals anyway; since Asher believes Ziva is important enough to be a part of the new world I suppose should give you the benefit of the doubt." She smiled. "You see, I am very well informed about you, Officer David. In fact I am very well informed about _all_ of you. Including the one who seems to be missing. What was his name again?" She put on a mock face of concentration. "Oh, yes; Timothy McGee."

Gibbs felt his rage level increase dangerously. Noticing his change in expression, Natalya said, "Yes, Agent Gibbs; it would seem even your high levels of security are not as secure as you thought. And I must thank you for it- it made Asher's job a lot easier."

"Are you saying…?" The ex-marine sniper gripped his gun tightly, not fully trusting himself to not go crazy with it and empty an entire magazine into the screen.

"Indeed. How else do you think Asher was able to know that Agent McGee was a member of your team closely associated with your loan from Israel?" She smiled as she looked at Ziva. "How else do you think he was able to track down the rest of his old team? You might have been able to prevent this whole scenario had you bothered to search for them in the last three years; instead, you chose to disassociate yourself that from part of your life, and as a result you are in the position that you're in now. So you see- I know quite a bit about you. More so, in any case that you know about me."

"What else do I need to know other than what I already do?" Ziva asked through her teeth. "You joined up with a sociopathic person who has no regard for innocent life. And now you're prepared to distribute a deadly weapon to any terrorist organization willing to pay for it!"

"Hmm." Natalya brought her finger up to her chin, a mock thoughtful expression on her face. "A good guess, but no." She shook her head. "You're partly right; I _am_ going to use Hellstorm to restore balance in this world, but I have no intention of selling it to terrorists."

"Well then," Tony started, "what the hell do you plan on using it for?"

"That, Agent DiNozzo, is for me to know and you to think about." The smugness was evident on the CEO's face. "Of course, if you're half as smart as you like to believe you are, you should have no trouble in figuring it out eventually. I expect Officer David already knows it, although," she paused, "considering how narrow-minded you are, I don't think you've realized it yet. And you won't until you start thinking outside your own perfect little box." She raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile. "Provided of course, you live that long."

Ziva felt her heart begin to beat faster. Smirking in a self-important fashion, Natalya said, "If I don't get the opportunity to say so again, it has certainly been a pleasure meeting you all. Although, considering how important Asher believes you to be Ziva," she paused, "I think that it's evident that we shall eventually meet." She looked directly at the Mossad agent. "See you soon."

The screen clicked off.

"You can count on it." Ziva growled under her breath. Before this little encounter, she figured she would only have a few sharp questions for Natalya. Now, when they actually _did_ meet, she would something _else_ which was very sharp for her.

"Well, that was a little more than we expected." Tony said dryly. "What do we do now?"

"She knows where Asher is." Ziva's voice was literally pulsating with fury. "He's probably in the same place as her right now. And I'm not going to stop until I find them both, only this time it's going to be my knives that do the talking instead of my mouth!"

"Take it easy Ziva." Gibbs' tone was both authoritative and concerned. "The last time you went on a vigilante hunt, you got a severe beating because of it. We'll deal with this the proper way." He wished he could convince himself of that; he was still feeling the effects of his intense feelings of rage that had come dangerously close to exploding. "I'm going to call in a sweep of this facility- anything that looks remotely like something will be collected. Maybe we can figure out where our two friendly foreigners are now. That way, we should be able to…"

Gibbs stopped speaking. He jerked his head up, his eyes darting around. He had heard something- something in the shadows.

Ziva and Tony had heard it too. They tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes searching the shadows as well. Ziva felt a sense of fear again; she forced it aside and ordered her to concentrate.

Then, from the shadows, a figure took off running, racing towards the front of the building. Whirling around, Gibbs immediately lifted his weapon and shouted, "NCIS! Freeze!"

The figure kept running. Catching glimpses of him as he moved behind the pillars, Ziva could tell from the shape of figure that it was definitely a man. For a second, she thought that Natalya had been lying and that Asher _was_ actually in the building, but she quickly realized it was not the ex-JTF2 agent. This man had slightly longer hair and a darker complexion, which she caught glimpses of as he moved in between the streaks of light. In any case, she thought to herself, Asher would be the first one to run _towards_ a group of armed agents, not _away_ from them. An animal like him never changed its instincts.

The man darted out from between the pillars and vanished out the front door before any of them could get a shot off. Letting out a cry of frustration, Gibbs shouted, "After him!"

The three agents raced towards the door; Gibbs moved through first while the other two kept him covered. Ziva followed him out with Tony right on her tail.

There was a large roar to their right- the roar of a car engine starting up. Turning around, Gibbs caught sight of the man in the black Pontiac just in time to throw himself to the side and avoid getting run over. The car burned rubber down the road as it made its way towards the onramp to the highway.

"Quick! Inside!" Ziva raced towards the NCIS van and yanked the door driver door open. Gibbs climbed into the back while Tony scrambled to take his place in the front beside Ziva. _Well, what do you know?_ Tony thought to himself. _Gibbs was right; it __was__ a good idea!_

Ziva quickly locked her seatbelt into place and turned the ignition key. As the van roared to life, she turned to Tony and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Tony began to slide his seatbelt into the lock. "I just need to…"

Ziva punched the gas pedal with every ounce of strength she had. Tony's head snapped back against the seat as the big vehicle launched itself forward as though it had been shot out of a cannon. Above the ringing in his head, he could vaguely hear Ziva say, "Good. I advise you to hold on to something." She burned rubber after the Pontiac. "It's going to be a _very_ rough ride…"


	14. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

There are few things that a former marine, regardless of the training that they have, are not prepared to face on a day-to-day basis. Used to dealing with life and death scenarios, they have trained themselves to adapt, to be one step ahead of the situation and to find a way to deal with it in the most efficient manner possible. It's their job, and they had to be damn good at it.

But when the scenario in question involves being a backseat passenger in a van going at least a hundred ten miles an hour down the highway, being driven by a pissed off Israeli Mossad agent, in pursuit of an equally reckless and dangerous driver at rush hour, well- there's not much you can do to train for that. Probably because the upper brass in the marines would never have believed such a scenario was likely to occur. Ever.

Well, Gibbs thought to himself as he kept an iron grip on the door handle to prevent himself from being shot through the back windshield, this just went to show that the upper brass didn't know quite as much as they liked themselves to believe. In fact, he was beginning to wonder whether the brass really knew anything at _all_ about the hazards and obstacles in their daily lives- because from where he was standing, somehow that just didn't seem too likely anymore.

He heard the jingle of his cell phone go off inside his pocket along with the traditional vibrating to remind him that someone was trying to get into contact with him. A bad time, the team leader thought as he gritted his teeth, trying to avoid putting himself in a position that would make it easier for him to make an unexpected exit via a window. He waited until Ziva had made a hard turn into the left hand lane to get around a slow-moving Buick before digging in his pocket to find his phone. Taking it out and flipping it open with one hand while not loosening his grip on the handle, he said, "Yeah?"

"Gibbs?" Abby's worried tone came through the speaker. "What's going on? Why am I hearing the sound of cars going by at a thousand miles an hour? I thought you said you were going to check out the lead at the AISSEX compound."

"We did." Gibbs poked his head around the passenger seat, trying to get a glimpse of the Pontiac among the rows of other vehicles on the road. "The lead turned out to be positive- Natalya Russikov is definitely involved with this business- but we're now a little side tracked. Some wisecrack who thinks he's Michael Schumacher fled from the scene, and we're in pursuit along I-66."

Locating the Pontiac in the right hand lane about thirty yards away, Gibbs watched as the driver made a dangerous swerve to get around another van, and then crossed over into the centre lane, cutting off a Nissan and barely avoiding a collision. Without changing her expression, Ziva followed him at a hundred miles an hour, narrowly avoiding crashing into the back of the same Nissan as she made a hard turn to get around the civilian vehicle.

"Pursuit?" Abby's voice was more than just a little shocked and surprised. "It sounds like someone's playing _Bad Boys II_ in the background at full blast! What the hell are you three _doing_ over there??"

"Abby, listen, we can't talk right now. We have to concentrate on getting this guy without getting killed ourselves in the process. I'll call you back as soon as we can."

"Ducky's been hounding me to call you for a report to make sure you're all alright, and I'm not to take no for an answer! He wants to know if…"

"Tell Ducky we are in a _situation_ here and…"

Gibbs was suddenly and abruptly cut off by a series of quick events. Though he wasn't sure at first what had happened Tony, who had a much better view, saw everything that went on; some idiot in a Honda had just been foolish enough to pull in front of Ziva at a tortoise speed of seventy miles per hour. Ziva, growling obscenities under her breath in Hebrew, had to jerk to the side to avoid slamming into him; unfortunately that put them directly in the path of an oncoming Jaguar, who was going faster than they were, and the front of car rammed right into the back of the NCIS van. Gibbs and Tony jerked forwards, with only their seatbelts preventing them from going through the windshield. The Jaguar's horn blared in anger as Ziva hit the gas pedal and zoomed off, leaving a very-likely pissed off driver behind them. Tony gave a silent inner sigh of relief; he didn't want to be present when the owner of such an expensive car realized that the damage done to his vehicle was likely much greater than that done to their van.

Recovering from the jolt in the back, Gibbs heard Abby's voice speak through the phone. "Got it. I'll tell Ducky that you are currently engaged in keeping this great country of ours safe and to try to contact you would put your lives in mortal danger!"

"Thanks Abs- I appreciate it." _Actually that's pretty near the truth, since considering the way our Mossad companion is driving, we may as well be a couple of disposable smoke grenades!_ "We'll call you as soon as we can."

"You better! I don't want to have to visit four hospital rooms next time instead of one! For the love of God, be careful!"

Giving the Goth scientist his assurance on the matter, the ex-marine sniper lowered his phone and let out a deep sigh. Maybe he should have had Abby give Ziva that piece of advice, he wondered, since it was in her hands that he and Tony were putting their lives and those of countless innocent people.

The Israeli was now playing a game of cat and mouse with the Pontiac, zigzagging her way through the rows of cars to keep their target in sight. The Pontiac was doing a good job of playing the mouse, cutting in and out of traffic at the dangerous speed of at least a hundred five miles per hour in an attempt to lose his pursuers. Even though they were only about six car lengths behind him, he seemed to be moving at a far faster and more dangerous speed than he really was, zipping throughout the lanes as though it were his own personal race car track. Ziva kept pace with the target, even though the speed she was attacking the road at was far beyond what any sane driver would dare push.

Holding on for dear life, Tony watched as the Pontiac suddenly made a move worthy to be called a Hollywood stunt; the driver without warning swerved to the side and rammed straight into a taxi that was right in front of them. The taxi, currently in the right-hand lane, went careening into the guardrail, smashed against it and then came rebounding back into the lane, moving a hell of a lot slower than it had originally. Tony's eyes widened as the van, going at least a hundred ten, bore down directly onto the largely disabled cab, and the distance between the two suddenly appeared to be much shorter than it had been a second ago. He grasped the handle tightly and opened his mouth as he braced himself for the collision…

There was a high-pitched screech as Ziva, the muscles in her jaw clenched and her eyes blazing hit the breaks just for a split second then wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right. Tony's heart jumped into his mouth as the van slipped onto the shoulder about half an inch away from the taxi, hesitated for brief second, and then roared forward past it back into the lane. The other cars behind them weren't nearly so lucky, he thought as he heard the screeching of brakes against the pavement followed by the smash of metal crunching and glass shattering. He hoped no one would be _too_ seriously injured in the ensuing collision; judging from the sound behind them it was a bit too much to hope for that there would be no injuries whatsoever.

Though the daredevil manoeuvre had nearly cost them their lives, it had also put them closer to their target, which was now no more than three car lengths ahead of them. Ziva punched the gas again and zipped after the fleeing Pontiac, who was back to practising his cat and mouse games of trying to lose his pursuers in traffic. The Israeli followed right in his tracks, whipping from lane to lane as though she had practised this a thousand times. Though knowing her, Tony thought, maybe she actually had.

Just as they were starting to gain even closer to the fleeing suspect, Gibbs suddenly heard a loud crack and felt the rush of something race past his face. Quickly catching his bearings, he saw the small hole in the windshield of the van and, turning around saw an identical one in the back window. Looking forward, se caught a glimpse of the driver point something in their direction and the loud clanging noises of steel meeting metal meant that their target was armed. He felt his heart start pounding through his chest even more, even as he heard Tony call out, "Boss, he's got a weapon! He's shooting at us!"

"Gee, I would never have guessed, DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted back. "What are you waiting for? Shoot back if you get a clear shot!"

"Me, boss?"

"Well Ziva is just a little bit occupied chasing the guy down, so I don't think she's in much position to take accurate shots!" He brought his cell phone up. "I'm going to make a very important call to try to get us a little backup out here, so if I were you I'd look for an open shot!"

"Got it boss!" Tony reached down and took out his weapon, trying to act confident even though at that moment this was probably one of the few times in his life he had been completely _unconfident_. How the hell was he going to be able to get a clear shot off? He dared not try randomly shooting at the Pontiac's tires; there were far too many civilian vehicles on the highway to try that. As if reading his thoughts, Ziva said abruptly, "If I were you Tony, I wouldn't wait until we're moving in a straight line. If the driver's past actions are anything to go by," she swerved hard to the left around another car, "this is going to be a very pointy ride."

Tony, still grasping on for dear life on the door handle, had neither the time nor the nerve to tell her that the correct word was 'bumpy'.

Acting quicker than his brain was he found himself rolling down the window. At the same time, he heard the pressing of phone buttons and a second later Gibbs' voice; "Abby! I need you to get on the phone with the state police right now. See if you can get them to set up roadblocks on I-66; we could really use some backup out here!"

Tony leaned out the window and saw the Pontiac was just in range back in the right lane. He took aim with his pistol and squeezed off two rounds, hoping to take out at least one of tires, but at the last possible second the driver swerved to the left to get around a rental truck. Ziva immediately did the same, and Tony just barely had the time to duck back inside before his head was taken off by the back of the truck.

"I don't care _how_ much you have to persuade them!" Gibbs shouted into the phone. "We need some kind of assistance out here right now! Threaten them with NCIS interference in their investigations if you have to, but get someone out here before this guy kills somebody!" _Or almost as bad, gets away with who-knows-what information on this whole AISSEX connection to Asher Ballack_! "Look, just do whatever you have to do, Abs! Work your magic like you always do! But if you want to retain my belief that you're the best forensic scientist in D.C, I suggest you move on this, ASAP!" He abruptly ended the call and jammed his phone back into his pocket. It was absolutely imperative they stop this guy soon, he thought. If they didn't, a whole lot of innocent people could very well wind up injured or killed, and that was something he _wouldn't_ let happen, under _any_ circumstances!

The rush hour traffic seemed to be working in their favour, at least for the moment. The slowdown of the vehicles on the highway meant less space for their target to outmanoeuvre them and slip away. Sure enough, as the team leader stared out the front windshield he saw the Pontiac weaving back and forth impatiently, trying desperately to find an opening. Looking over towards their own driver, Tony couldn't help but almost detect a small smile on the face of the Mossad officer. The smile of anticipated success, he supposed; Ziva was like a relentless wolverine when it came to catching the bad guys, and when she did she would not pull any punches, literally or metaphorically. At that moment, Tony found himself almost sympathizing with the driver; when Ziva got her hands on him he would be spilling information like a busted oil well. Of course, the key word here being 'almost'; after what that miserable Canadian bastard and his Russian partner-in- well, whatever they were involved in- had done to her and McGee, he wouldn't be stepping should Ziva decide to employ some of her more 'enhanced interrogation methods'.

It was indeed a blessing for Gibbs when he heard the unmistakable cry of police sirens not too far behind them. Sure enough, as he turned around in his seat and stared out the cracked glass, he caught glance of two police cars racing up behind them, sirens wailing and lights flashing. The ex-marine sniper allowed himself a small smile; Abby had gotten through to the police after all. He wouldn't have been surprised if she told them that she could hack into their system anytime she wanted and steal all their information. That was actually something more up McGee's ally, but since McGee was not available to do such a thing, Abby was the best alternative. Besides, she could threaten people better than McGee could; who wouldn't be intimidated by someone who could murder someone in the most obscure way possible and leave no physical evidence behind? He made a mental note- another one on his growing list- to bring her an extra large Caf-Pow the next time he saw her.

The Pontiac seemed to recognize the threat as well, for the driver immediately went over to the right lane and, more or less knocking the car in front of him out of the way with his bumper, turned onto the shoulder and made for the exit ramp. Ziva, noticing this, immediately lost her look of confidence. "He's going to get off the highway onto civilian streets!" The look of frustration and tension was evident on her face. "We have no time to wait for the police to catch up. Hold on, both of you!" She pressed her foot against the gas pedal and powered through the narrow gap in the right lane onto the exit.

Looking up to see how far along the Pontiac was, Tony froze in his seat, his eyes locked onto the sight that was rapidly approaching at a dangerously high rate of speed. "Uh, Ziva?" the senior field agent managed to croak out. "I don't think we're going to be able to pass that trailer truck. Maybe you should slow down."

Ziva didn't respond and only pressed her foot harder to the pedal. The van was now going a hundred twenty up the exit ramp, racing to catch up to the fleeing driver, and the trailer was now the last thing on her mind.

"Ziva, I really don't think we're going to make it in time. I know it sounds strange coming from me of all people, but I really think you should ease up on the gas."

Ziva merely clenched her jaw, Gibbs' remarks following on deaf ears. She watched as the Pontiac sped past the truck with no regard for the posted speed limit- not that it meant anything to her either- and burn rubber towards the exit. The driver gave a sharp turn to the left, and, tires screeching made the turn onto the main street. The back end of the vehicle slid around, forcing the driver to take an extra few seconds to straighten up- an extra few seconds for them to catch up. Ziva decided to take it; she rammed the gas pedal down to the floor.

Tony, his eyes now as wide as saucers, said, "Ziva, stop! We won't be able to make it! Ziva-"

She sped past the body of the truck, aiming for the corner of the turn lane. In the corner of her eye, she could see the truck in the other turn lane, making its turn in the same direction. The front end of it crossed over into their turn lane, right in front of them…

"_ZIIIIVAAAAAAA!!!_"

Tony wasn't entirely sure if the cry of horror came from his own mouth or Gibbs', but it was largely irrelevant; he was too busy seeing his own life flash before his eyes to notice. The truck's horn gave a loud blare- that to him sounded like the screams of the dying- and he readied himself for collision…

Then, at the last possible second, Ziva, with her foot still pressing the gas pedal to the floor turned the steering wheel to the left; Tony's heart skipped about five beats as he watched the truck flash by a millimetre from his face. Almost instantaneously, Ziva pulled up the emergency brake, sending the van into a screeching 180° turn, and not waiting for a single second punched the gas pedal to pick up the pursuit of their target. Unfortunately, the two police cruisers behind them didn't have the time to stop; Gibbs whirled around as he heard the screeching of brakes followed by the sickening crunch of metal, and saw one of the cruisers fly up into the air, execute a 180° flip in the air and come crashing down, hood first onto the pavement. From the sound of it he estimated that at least twenty cars were probably involved in the pile-up, and at least some of the drivers seriously injured. _Christ_.

Over the din, he could barely hear Tony ask, in a distinctly un-Tony like voice, "Do they not have any driving laws in Israel?!"

Ziva gave a small smile. "Stay calm Tony. We're not quite through with this yet."

The senior field agent nervously turned back towards the front. He had absolutely no desire, in heaven or hell, to ask what other tricks she had up her sleeve; the answer may make him jump out of the moving vehicle, going seventy miles per hour done a city street or not.

However, it seemed that that would not be necessary, for as soon as they caught up with the Pontiac at street level, the two of them found themselves in a packed line for a red light. Traffic was at and absolute standstill and the target was literally right in front of them as they waited for the light to turn green.

So what did the race car wannabe decide to do? Apparently fearful that an impatient and pissed off Ziva would start ramming the back of his car- which, Tony thought, was not all that unlikely- the man got out of the vehicle and made a break for the city street on foot. In a flash, Ziva was out of the car and pursuing him with Tony and Gibbs scrambling after them, Gibbs shouting something to some on-lookers about not touching his damn vehicle no matter what.

The target was a fast runner- quick and agile as he dodged around pedestrians and obstacles, hoping to lose the NCIS agents in the crowd- but Ziva was just as agile, even with her recent beat-down at the hands of Asher Ballack. She put on a burst of speed, and the suspect quickly glancing over his shoulder, realized he was not going to lose her like this.

In desperation, he shoved an elderly man in front of Ziva; the Mossad officer quickly positioned herself so as to make sure neither she nor the man went tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately, this slowed her down a bit, and by the time she had gotten herself untangled from him, the suspect had disappeared down a narrow alleyway.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Ziva entered the entrance to the alley just in time to see the target sprint towards a fence near the end of the path. Ziva knew she wouldn't be able to catch him up before he reached it, and by the time she would get over the fence he may be long gone in any number of possible directions. No- she had to end it here, now.

Quickly drawing her pistol, Ziva took aim but hesitated just for a split second; she didn't want to _kill_ the suspect- if she did, they would be back to square one and have no idea what the whole connection was between Asher, Natalya, and the purpose behind Hellstorm. So instead, she took aim at the man's leg and pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck him right below the knee; he went down like a- what was that American expression again? Ten pin? – His leg literally crumpled from underneath him. By this time, Tony and Gibbs had joined her and the three teammates quickly made their way down the alley towards the fallen suspect. Upon seeing them approach, the man rolled over onto his back and pulled out his pistol; Ziva quickly kicked it far out of his reach and planted her knee into his ribcage, aiming her pistol directly at his face while Gibbs and Tony kept her covered.

Having all the pent-up rage and frustration inside of her, Ziva was itching to have a target to take it out on, and right here was a very probable link to the real target of her anger. In fact, she was wondering whether or not she could shoot him now on sight without asking any questions and persuade her teammates to say he committed suicide, when she finally got a good look at the face of the man. That's when she stopped right in her tracks.

Despite the longer hair and the goatee, there was no denying it; she not only recognized this man- she knew him _personally_.

"Gilat?" Her voice reflected the shock she was feeling at that moment. "Is that you?"

The man stared up at her, not saying a word. It was Gibbs who broke the silence. "You know this guy?"

"Of course I know him." Ziva still sounded taken back. "His name is Gilat Lvipi- he's one of our agents stationed in the United States."

"He's with Mossad?" Tony sounded almost as surprised as she did. "Doesn't that mean he's on our side? What was he doing at the AISSEX compound? Why did he run from us and then try to shoot us?"

"What have you done?" The accented voice of the wounded man came drifting up towards them. To Ziva, it sounded like the voice of a condemned man- a man who was doomed to see the world crumble around him while he looked on helplessly. "For the love of Yahweh, what have you done Ziva?" His pained face looked up at her. "Why have you opened the pathway to annihilation?"

"What are you talking about?" Ziva demanded. "Why were you at the AISSEX oil compound? Do you know anything about AISSEX and its connection to Asher Ballack? Do you know what they mean when they say they are going to establish a 'new world order'?"

"Asher has only handed you the key to global self-destruction." Gilat's response was as cryptic as his questions. "It is you are using it to open the gateway that will change the world forever. The balance of power is in a state of relative harmony; if you do not halt the path Asher is helping you carve, chaos and anarchy will reign and bring the world to its knees."

"Alright, I've had enough of this 'balance of power' garbage!" Gibbs' tone was forceful. "What the hell is this plan that Ballack has that could potentially threaten the entire world? I keep hearing about this but no one is explaining it to me! How can one man pose such a danger to every single person on the planet?"

"The planet is built on a system," replied Gilat. "A system that allows many of the most powerful countries to exert their influence over other, weaker actors. For the stability of the world, this is a necessary system that must be endured despite its faults." He stared up at the three. "What happens when this system is broken down in a single action? By one man, possessing a weapon terrible enough to plunge the entire balance of the world into chaos for many years to come?"

"Hellstorm?" Tony asked. "But that doesn't make any sense; I thought Hellstorm was designed to protect the free world, not destroy it. How can he possibly use it as a weapon to bring down the entire world system in one instance?"

"You do not understand the capabilities that Ballack now has within his grasp. I do not know the specifics of how he plans to succeed in such an attempt, but it is vital that he not be allowed to have his vision realized. You must understand that if you hope to stop him."

Ziva, still breathing heavily from her sprint, looked at the man for a second then promptly removed her knee from his ribcage. "Get up- slowly," she ordered.

Keeping a careful eye on the man, she allowed him to stand up gingerly on his good leg, though keeping her weapon ready in case she needed it. Putting it in as direct a manner as possible, she asked, "How are you involved in this business?"

"Mossad knows of Ballack's capabilities." Gilat answered. "They know he is planning a very large operation and they know of his connection to the AISSEX oil company. The only thing they do not know are the specifics of the operation itself; I was sent to ascertain the specifics of their agenda and see if it was possible to delay or sabotage them in any way. Your appearance at the compound put me at a disadvantage; I could not afford to have my mission compromised-"

"So you decided to lead us on a high speed chase that could have ended in the deaths or injuries of countless innocent people so as not to protect national security secrets." Gibbs interjected, and the team leader's tone was less than friendly.

Gilat shrugged as if the matter was of no importance. Gibbs seemed to be on the verge of giving another very sharp retort but Ziva quickly cut in. "Look, if we are going to succeed in stopping Ballack and Russikov, then we need to have all the pertinent information. Forget Mossad policy for a moment, Gilat- this is more important. Where is Asher now?"

"I honestly don't know, but I discovered something that may prove relevant." He spoke the last part of the sentence quickly as though anticipating an explosion of anger from Gibbs. "A couple of days ago, I managed to tap into the phone lines of the AISSEX network system, and it was then that heard her- the CEO Natalya Russikov- say something about the importance of a warehouse near the east side of the ship yard. Unfortunately the communication was cut before I could hear anymore, but I believe it is relevant to this case. That is the best possibility any of us have right now. If Ballack is indeed there, it could shift the entire situation in our favour if we act quickly enough. We should go over there right away; the longer we delay, the easier it will be to…"

There was a sudden popping noise in the distance; Ziva heard it and recognized all in the space of a second and a half, but it was already far too late for her to do anything. The front of Gilat's chest burst open on the left side and Ziva felt the projectile move an inch away from her own head right before a spatter of blood hit her right in the face.

Gilat immediately fell to the ground, dead before he had made contact. Momentarily disoriented, Ziva quickly dropped to one knee and raised her weapon, scanning the rooftops for the sniper. Gibbs and Tony did the same. The Mossad officer narrowed her eyes, searching for the person she knew she was not going to find.

Not in this part of the city anyway…

***

A mile and a half away, Asher gave a small smile to himself as readjusted himself on the roof of the car parking garage. A direct strike, just like always. And he didn't even have to account for the wind speed. Not anymore.

Looking back through the scope, he watched as Ziva and her two companions looked around in vain, aiming their pistols in every single direction, trying to locate whoever had just put their new Mossad friend out of his miserable life permanently. Focusing the crosshairs on Ziva, just for a moment, he murmured to himself:

"Not yet Ziva." He slung his rifle up to his shoulder and stood up. "You don't get off that easy. The world is going to need someone like you when the balance of power shifts very soon, and you're going to be a part of it- whether you like it," he paused, "_or not_.."

Bringing the rifle back down to waist level, he took a moment to examine his forearm, feeling the cool breeze brush up against the skin exposed by his combat vest. Tilting his head, he said to himself, "What do you know? Natalya was right- the coat _should_ come off once in a while…"

***

Ziva clenched her jaw angrily. There was no doubt about it; this was Asher's work. No one else could pull of a shot from such a great distance. No one else would know that the man she was speaking to was one of her own fellow Mossad companions.

And no one else would make sure that the bullet passed her by so close that she could feel the heat coming off the metal, as if to tell her that it had been so close to taking her along with it.

_Bastard_.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Tony shouted. "Who the hell could have…?"

"Ballack, Tony." Ziva interrupted. "Trust me; even Gibbs would not be capable of making a shot like that."

"Well, where the hell is he?" The team leader called back.

"Knowing him," Ziva let out a deep breath, "over a mile away. It's pointless to go after him; he'll be twice that distance away by now, the mangy bastard!"

Gibbs and Tony exchanged glances. Though Ziva was famous, or perhaps infamous, for her colourful vocabulary, she rarely displayed outright anger, and when she did it was only when she took something personally.

_Very_ personally.

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by an unexpected sound- a cell phone ringing.

Confused, the senior field agent looked from Gibbs to Ziva, neither of which seemed to be in possession on the device in question.

It was only then that Ziva realized the ringing phone belonged to their late Mossad friend on the ground. Turning him over, she fished in his pockets and pulled it out. There was no caller ID on it, so she merely flipped it open and held it to her ear, not saying a word.

There was a pause- then a male voice came through the speaker, in Hebrew, "Gilat, report! Have you tracked down Ballack's location yet? What is your status?"

Very calmly, Ziva responded in the same language. "I don't think he'll be sending any more reports back home any time soon," she paused, "Papa."

There was a pause on the other line. Then the voice answered in a surprised tone, "Ziva? What are you doing there? What's going on?"

Her voice as cold as ice, she asked, "_Where's Asher?_"

"Ziva, listen to me." Eli sounded almost unnerved. "This situation is far bigger than you could possibly imagine; Asher should be the least of your concerns right now. Come back to Israel and I'll explain the entire thing to you here!"

"Wrong answer," Ziva responded. "I'm going after that murdering scumbag, on my own, without any other assistance from Mossad."

"Ziva, believe me when I tell you this; you _cannot_ just undertake this as any other mission. This is far beyond anything you have ever faced. If you take this road the way you plan, you're not going to like where it takes you!"

"I guess that's something I'll just have to leave to chance." Ziva responded coolly. "But don't worry Papa; I haven't forgotten about you. And after I kill Asher," she paused, "I'm going to be paying you a _very_ special visit." She clenched her teeth. "You want to see how your daughter operates as an assassin, Papa? _You will_."

She abruptly terminated the call and turned around to see her two teammates staring at her. "What was all that about?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva sighed. "Apparently the actions over here have been noticed by the high-ranking intelligence back home."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "Your father? That was your father? Eli David- the director of Mossad?"

Ziva nodded tiredly. Gibbs, giving a big sigh of exhaustion himself said, "Well, at any rate, we at least have something to go on. Our late friend here mentioned something about a warehouse near the shipyard; that should be easy enough to track down. In the meantime," he pulled out his cell phone, "I'm going to call in a sweep of the oil compound- see if we can't get anything definitive off of it."

He dialled the number to NCIS; Abby picked it up almost instantly.

"Gibbs? Are you alright? What happened?" the forensic scientist asked frantically.

"Abby, calm down. We're all fine." _Which is more than I can say for our late friend here_. "Everything's alright."

"What about the guy you were chasing? Do you get him?"

"In a manner of speaking. Listen Abs, I need you to send a team of field operatives over to the AISSEX oil compound near I-66. It's a possibility we may be able to find something down there that will help us track our blood-happy foreign friends down. All we need is one bit of evidence, and then we'll be able to lock these guys down for…"

Gibbs was suddenly and abruptly caught off by the sound of a huge explosion behind him. Automatically ducking down, he whirled around; in the distance, right where the location of the AISSEX oil compound had been not ten minutes prior, a massive fireball reached out towards the sky. Another explosion rocked the air, and as the three teammates watched in amazement, three more balls of fire skyrocketed towards the atmosphere; the oil tankers. A burning blaze of fire covered the sky, turning it from blue to a mixture of yellow and orange, and the flames seemed, invigorated by the oil supply, seemed to grow in intensity with each passing second.

Through the speaker in his phone, Gibbs heard Abby's frantic voice. "Gibbs? What's going on? What was that noise?"

Slowly bringing himself back to reality, he replied slowly, "On second thought, cancel the order for that sweep Abs. We're no longer going to need it."

"Why not?"

Staring into the fiery sky, the ex-marine sniper responded, "It's just a guess on my part, but somehow I think we'd have a _very_ hard time getting anything viable from it…."


	15. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Tony frowned as he paced back and forth in Abby's lab. His cool demeanour, usually unchallenged even in times of the most frustrating and unnerving events, was noticeably deflating by the second, his eyes anxiously glancing around the room, darting from corner before eventually come back around to Abby's station. The Goth scientist was typing away at a furious speed, her fingers dancing around the keyboard as screen after screen popped up, went down, and then almost instantly replaced by another. The senior field agent watched in awe as she narrowed her eyes fiercely, as though the computer was intentionally blocking her path to finding out the information that she wanted. Tony began to worry that if she didn't find it soon, the lab would be minus one piece of technical equipment, courtesy of Miss Abigail Sciuto and her rapidly increasing temper. In fact, he was just considering whether or not he ought to risk telling her to ease of before she punched the keys out of their placeholders when the forensic scientist spoke up unexpectedly.

"You don't have to be here to watch my every move Tony." Abby's voice was terse, stiff, and distinctly un-Abby like. "I'm perfectly capable of tracing a single building through the NCIS system. I'm not some computer-illiterate technophobe who needs help with every single menial task that does not involve testing chemicals and matching DNA samples. You should know that by now."

Tony, caught off guard by the direct and rather harsh tone of the Goth, was temporarily at a loss for words. However, he quickly recovered. "I do know that Abs," he said quickly. "I just want to be close at hand when the break we're searching for comes through. Gibbs will want any useful information we come across the second we find it. And as for Ziva, well- I'd be just a little worried, hard as it is to believe, if she found out that we'd discovered something that might lead us to Ballack and didn't tell her immediately."

"Knowing Ziva," Abby said darkly, "she won't leave a single scrap of that bastard for anyone else to cut apart."

Tony stopped, arrested by her sudden dark change in tone. It was a tone he had never heard from her before, and if he were to be honest with himself it was a tone that almost scared him- almost. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've been stuck in this lab for hours on end since this whole situation started." Abby wheeled around to face him, and seeing the uncharacteristic rage in her eyes the senior field agent unconsciously took a step back. "Two of my closest friends have been viciously attacked by a single individual- one of them so severely beaten that he may not wake up for God knows how long, or in what condition." She took a step towards Tony. "Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw McGee in that condition, Tony? Have you ever felt the blood in your veins turn to ice and your heart literally stop in your chest? Have you ever felt completely hopeless as you watch one of the people you care about most slip further and further away with no way of reaching them or pulling them back to you? Tell me Tony; have you ever experienced something like that?"

Tony's mouth formed a grim line. He didn't want to be in this position- it made him distinctly uncomfortable. And it reminded him of just how much pain he had indeed experienced in seeing close friends die around him. The blank look on Kate's face as she lay lifeless on that roof was cracking through to the front of his mind. He pushed it back and said, with all the firmness he could muster that stopped just shy of sounding like he was pulling authority, "I understand you're hurting Abby; we all are. Don't think for one moment that what happened to McGee didn't affect me as well. Probie's as much a friend and teammate to me as he is to you, and if I could go out right now and avenge what happened to him and Ziva, I would take it in a heartbeat. But we _can't_. At least not until we have a lock on where this guy may be holed up. And considering that the oil storage facility belonging to the same has been blown to hell and back will likely burn for a few days straight, we're not going to get anything viable from it. That's why we need you here to work on getting us a location- we need to find out which warehouse of the shipyard the Mossad officer was talking about. If you do, we may end up cornering our Neo-copier friend before he can launch another attack on our team!"

"Damn it Tony, do you understand?!" Abby shouted right in his face, and Tony was stunned to see tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "Did you have any idea what it was like for me to see McGee beaten within an inch of his life? Did you have any idea how it was for me to hear that Ziva had been singularly destroyed in close combat when usually her enemies are lucky if they're dead before they hit the ground? How do you think I've been dealing with that? It seems that no matter how hard I try, all I do is come up to brick wall after brick wall! Meanwhile, the miserable bastard who's responsible for all this hides just behind it, as though he's flaunting his success at us and taunting our failures!"

Tony's mouth opened and closed several times without uttering a sound; though he was well used to be railed on by Gibbs, having it done by Abby was somehow an even more intimidating experience- probably because he had absolutely no idea on how to respond to such an outburst. For the first time in his life, the senior field agent didn't know what to say. His silence continued as the Goth went on.

"I promised Gibbs that I would do everything I possibly could to help track Ballack down. But it seems that every time we draw close to him, he has some new trick up his sleeve that he pulls from out of thin air and slips away from us. And I can't stand that Tony; I just can't stand that. I close my eyes and all I can see is McGee's bruised and bloody face, and no matter how hard I try to tell myself that I'll be helping him if I find out something useful here in the lab I can't help but shake the feeling that I won't feel completely at peace until I confront him face-to-face."

"And what good would that do?" Tony finally found his voice again. "Alright, suppose that Ballack was right here in front of you now, and you had the opportunity to take out your rage and your anger on him. What then? How would that help McGee if you were to go all crazy on this guy? It wouldn't- not now and not ever. Besides, after what Ballack did to Ziva, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be fazed by an angry forensic scientist- special skill in leaving no evidence behind or not. Abby, whatever feelings of hate and fury you're feeling- and I'm sure there are a lot of them- you're going to have to put them to the side if you want to be able to track this guy down. Once we've found Ballack, we're going to make sure that he is never able to harm anyone again, including McGee, but before that's even remotely possible you'll need to take a deep breath and concentrate on the task at hand."

A voice from right behind Tony had him spinning around. "For once Abby, I have to agree with his rationality." Ziva strode up to her two co-workers. "Blind hatred will only get you so far; to conquer your enemy, the first thing you have to do is make sure you're thinking clearly and without emotion. Emotion of any kind, whether good or bad, will cloud your judgment."

Tony swallowed as he felt his heartbeat slow back down to normal. He had not heard Ziva come down to the lab from the elevator, but then again that wasn't unusual; being a trained assassin meant that you were not supposed to be heard by your target until it was too late. He just wished she would stop treating him as one and start working cooperatively as a partner should. Shaking his head, he said to her, "You're going to get yourself killed doing that to me one of these days."

"Actually, if you were an enemy Tony instead of an admittedly useful partner, right now you would be the one who was dead." The Mossad officer said smoothly. "Just consider yourself fortunate you are on my side as opposed to against me. Bad things tend to happen to those who get on my bad side."

"Oh, you mean like the bastard Canadian ex-partner of yours who appears out of nowhere after three years and then decides to target one the people closest to me Ziva- is that it?" Abby's eyes narrowed in anger at the Israeli. "Is this the same guy who single-handedly destroyed you in your own speciality of hand-to-hand combat? Is this the guy who got you convinced to go on your own mission of revenge that failed miserably?"

"This is not about revenge Abby." Ziva said firmly, trying very hard not to show the pain that the Goth scientist's accusations were causing her. "Asher is dangerous; he's a threat to everyone who gets in his way. If we don't stop him soon, a lot more innocent people may end injured or killed. We cannot allow that to happen."

"Like you didn't allow him to use McGee as a punching bag?" Abby's harsh words broke through the Mossad officer's iron inner shield like a white hot spear. "I suppose that's an old Mossad trick; let the less valuable and less important people pay the consequences while ultimately achieving what's best for you."

"Abby!" The Goth ignored Tony's outburst and continued.

"Ever since this began, I've been hoping that when we catch this scumbag, I'll be able to confront him face-to-face, just to make him feel the same pain as he has caused our entire team- the same pain that he has caused _me_ and the same pain he caused McGee. Every time I try to concentrate on getting one step closer to tracking him down, I see his face. I see McGee's bloody, motionless body. And all I can get from that is pain and despair." She glared at Ziva. "And all you can talk about is how you're going to kill an individual who I'm not sure _can _be killed. How can you be so heartless?"

A stunned Ziva opened her mouth to talk but was once again cut off by the forensic scientist. "I don't know what they teach at Mossad about not running everyone else over to keep your country more secure than Fort Knox, but this is not Israel. This is NCIS, and I would have thought that spending a couple of years here would have softened your hard-line persona just a little bit." She crossed her arms across her ribs. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Abby, listen to me." Ziva knew she had to set the record straight. She had to keep herself from cracking up, even though her scientist friend's harsh words had cut through her like a knife. "You're right; this is not Mossad. This is something far greater. This is somewhere where one does not have to keep everyone at a distance. It is where people trust each other and can become friendly with each other. NCIS has taught me that, along with everyone I am surrounded with on a daily basis."

The Israeli looked Abby directly in the eye. "A large part of that comes from admitting when is wrong and making sure it does not happen again. You're right; what happened to McGee was my fault. It was a mistake to go on a personal vendetta, and I will regret that until the day I die. But if we are to make sure it never happens again, we have to ensure that the one responsible is never allowed to do the same thing again. We have to track down Ballack and stop him before he can do anymore harm."

She drew herself to her full height. "Make no mistake; I will do just about anything to accomplish any mission. If it means killing someone, I will do it. But I will not put the lives of innocent people in jeopardy in order to do that- regardless of what Mossad deems 'acceptable collateral damage'".

Abby stared at Ziva for a second, her tear-stained face looking for any sign that the Mossad officer was lying or twisting the truth. There wasn't a single sign at all. When it was evident Ziva was not going to back down from her position, the Goth bit her lip and hung her head down, tears leaking from her eyes. She put her face in her hands and started crying, her sobs echoing throughout the lab and her shoulders shook. Ziva gently took the scientist in her arms.

"It's going to be okay, Abby." Ziva consoled her. "It will be okay. I promise you, I'm not going to rest until I know McGee can't ever be hurt again."

Abby grasped at Ziva's shoulders as she continued to sob. It seemed like all the pent-up emotion she had been feeling in the past twenty-four hours had suddenly and violently come crashing down, and if she were to be honest with herself she wasn't entirely sure if she could handle it. It was comforting to have someone to hold onto.

"I'm sorry," she said between sniffs. "I-I just don't want to lose any more of the people I care for most in this world." She pulled away and looked at Ziva, the tears running down her cheeks. "I've already lost too many; I can't stand to lose any of you."

"You won't." Ziva's voice was firm as she held the Goth by the shoulders. "I _promise_ you that. I give you my word that we will all come out of this in alright. Including McGee. But in order to do that, we _have_ to find out where Ballack is. That is why need the address of that warehouse. Do you understand?"

Abby gave a curt nod. "You-you're right. I'm sorry; I just…" She shook her head. "I'm- I'm sorry."

She abruptly turned back towards the computer and began typing at a renewed speed. Tony, having remained largely silent while watching the exchange, moved a little further away from the scientist, Ziva close behind him.

"Nice motivational move, Zee-vah." The senior field agent remarked. "I never thought you could balance that deadly knife-throwing skill of yours with warm hugs and comforting words. If I didn't know better I'd say you were getting soft."

Ziva threw him a 'Mossad assassin' look and he quickly backed down. But then her expression softened and she looked back towards Abby. "She cares for McGee- a lot." The Israeli remarked. "It would take a fool not to see that. And it would take a liar to tell her that what happened will go unanswered."

"Ziva?"

The Mossad officer looked him dead in the eye. "I made her a promise Tony, and I am not one to break a promise. You should know that better than anyone."

"Yeah." He _did_ know it better than anyone. If there was anyone who could guarantee they'd bring down Asher Ballack, it was Ziva- whether or not the Canadian could move like Agent Smith or not. "We're just going to have to wait it out here until she gets a lock on that warehouse; Gibbs will want it the second we have it." He looked around confusedly. "By the way, where _is_ Gibbs?"

"He said he was going to meet an old friend of his," Ziva answered. "Someone who he said could help us in bringing the bastard down."

"Did he offer an explanation?"

Ziva raised an eyebrow and, starting to cross over to the other side of the room replied, "Does he ever?"


	16. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Gibbs leaned back in his car seat and exhaled a deep sigh of partial relief. His fingers tapped against the coffee cup in his hand in anticipation. Raising his eye to the rear-view mirror, he observed his expected arrival approach tactfully from the back; keeping to the centre as much as possible, only crossing to the right when he had reached the back of the car along the passenger side.

_Standard field procedure; make yourself less of a target than absolutely necessary in case of a surprise attack_. A smile tugged at the corners of Gibbs mouth. Some things a soldier never lost, even when they were no longer serving their country. He could understand that only too well; serving in NCIS or not, he still had his marine instincts and would never forgo them- they had saved his life on numerous occasions.

The passenger door opened and a middle aged man close to his own age wearing a dark overcoat climbed in and sat down. Closing the door, the man stared straight ahead. For several moments, neither man said a word, both merely staring out the windshield. Then the man opened his mouth and, without looking at the ex-sniper, began to talk.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs." The man's voice was quiet, rather husky, but nonetheless had the powerful tone of a soldier through and through. "Formerly one of the deadliest snipers in the US Marine Corps, now heading the field unit of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service in Washington, D.C. I never would have believed it."

"Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Bryan McCrae, former officer in the Canadian Forces, former head on the elite Joint Task Force 2 division, now retired to retired to Washington, D.C instead of to beautiful British Columbia." Gibbs replied smoothly. "I could say the same thing about you."

"It wasn't entirely a matter of choice. Your government likes to keep the heads of foreign anti-terrorism divisions where they can call them up if they suddenly have an elite emergency that requires our expertise." He turned to his left, and Gibbs could see the man's rugged face had a weary but almost bemused look on it. "Yet despite their apparent respect for my knowledge, they almost always forget that where I come from, the correct pronunciation of my rank is _left_-tenant."

A smile crossed Gibbs' face. "Unfortunately, here in the States, there's not much regard for political correctness. At least, not outside of our own colourful brass circle." He reached down and pulled another coffee cup from the placeholder near the parking brake. Handing it to his companion he remarked, "Down here, I'm afraid you're also short your famous Tim Hortons. The best I could do for this unexpected coffee break was a Starbucks."

"Oh, not to worry." McCrae took the cup. "If I retired out to B.C I'd practically be drowning in the stuff. Here at least, I can enjoy the luxury of it in between my daily intake of that stuff manufactured by your beloved Dunkin' Donuts."

Gibbs gave a loud chuckle and shook his head. Staring out the windshield, he said, "You haven't changed in ten years."

"Neither have you. The way I'm hearing it, you run your NCIS team the same way you would a Marine unit."

"And that would be?"

McCrae looked at him. "A no-nonsense hardass."

"Better than letting it fall into disorder." Gibbs was content to let his companion make out what he wanted from his answer. "I seem to recall you were very much the same with your own unit in JTF2."

"An elite counter-terrorism branch that's responsible for keeping our country safe and making sure our troops oversees are the best equipped and trained in the entire area?" McCrae had a pseudo-thoughtful look on his face. "You don't really have a choice in that area. You have a job to do and you have to do what's necessary to accomplish it."

"I can agree with that." Gibbs took a sip of coffee. "This is partly the reason you and I are having this conversation which, officially, isn't happening."

"Is it ever?" McCrae's question was blatantly rhetorical. "What would a former Marine and the head of NCIS require from the retired head of Canada's anti-terrorism branch of the military? I don't suppose it would have anything to do with the massive oil storage facility that was blown to pieces this morning or that car chase all over the news that caused about thirty collisions and several serious injuries, would it?"

"I only wish it weren't." Gibbs' tone was solemn and he let out a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, things aren't nearly that simple. My team is caught in the middle of a war between a liaisons officer from the Israeli Mossad under my command and a rogue former member of JTF2 under your leadership."

McCrae turned to him. "Do I get to find out the name of the unfortunate person who decided to get on the bad side of Israel's official bureau of assassination?"

"Asher Ballack."

McCrae's eyes flickered and, for a moment, seemed to darken over. Then he turned to face straight forward and went back to staring out the windshield. "Damn."

"It's more than just 'damn', McCrae." Gibbs stared at the Canadian. "My entire has been almost splintered and broken apart because of it. Ballack killed three junior field agents yesterday evening. He injured two of my top agents, one of whom is still in critical condition. The other one was enticed alone into a revenge mission that nearly killed her. And now we find out that whatever actions he's planning, he has powerful backing from at least one individual."

"Let me guess; whatever acts he decided to commit will be to stop the 'gross imbalance of power that's crippling the world and running in into the ground.'" Gibbs stared at him. McCrae looked him directly in the eye and said, "Ballack was always very vocal about his view of powerful countries and powerful corporations. It's what made him distinguishable from other soldiers. That and his propensity for being able to overcome practically any obstacle you put in front of him."

"I don't understand, McCrae." Gibbs shook his head. "I've worked with other JTF2 commandos under your leadership; they were among the best and most professional I've ever worked with. How did a sociopath like him get into your ranks?"

"His attitude wasn't always what we know it to be. In the beginning, he was nearly as green an inexperienced as any other applicant. His psychological tests revealed absolutely nothing that indicated he was a threat to himself or anyone around him. Over the two years I commanded him however, he seemed to change. He seemed to…develop a _need_ for showing what he was capable of doing in the field. I explained to him that that kind of attitude wouldn't be tolerated under my watch and he seemed to back off of it slightly. But I don't think he ever truly came to appreciate or acknowledge it."

Gibbs bit back his urge to reply, '_That was obvious'_. Instead he said, "But surely you must have kept watch over him? I find it hard to believe that you of all people would let somebody like that be a part of a team that thrives on discipline."

"Whatever Asher lacked in people's skills, he more than made up for in his abilities." McCrae's voice was far off, as though he was almost recalling what had been said to him and was shaking his head in exasperation and ridicule. "Technical scores off the charts, hand-to-hand combat skills usually not seen in veteran JTF2 soldiers. Not to mention his wide knowledge of foreign languages, Gibbs. The guy was a literal human translator fluent in English, French, German, Hebrew, Spanish, Italian, Arabic, Russian, Japanese and Mandarin. How he learned all that in just over twenty years is beyond me, but he did. And the fellow upper brass at JTF2 took it with gusto. Figured he had a real way of making his intentions known to virtually anyone."

Gibbs thought back to the bloody tree in the back of Barry Goldstein's yard; the figures drawn on it hadn't made any sense to him before, but they did now. Having an Israeli mother, Ballack would've known the Hebrew language for a long time, and when he decided to lure Ziva to him, it would make the most sense for him to send a message in her native language- it which would have the most impact and hurt her the most.

As if he could read Gibbs' thoughts, McCrae asked, "The Mossad agent attached to your team wouldn't happen to be named Ziva David, would she?"

Gibbs stared. "How would you know that?"

"Because that's the name of the Mossad officer attached to the elite team known as 'Hellstorm' that Ballack was chosen to be a part of." McCrae replied simply. "And judging from the fact that he went AWOL almost immediately after it ended, I think it's a fair assumption he wasn't too pleased with how it turned ended."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "How much do you know about that?"

"Enough that I know that David made a decision that seriously affected him personally, and that when she left that team whatever CSIS agreed to have him undergo gave him something he should never have had."

"Ziva was hunted down for doing the right thing." Gibbs' voice was slightly radiating with anger as he went on. "She stopped Ballack from massacring innocent civilians and as a result of this she was targeted for an ambush. Now this rogue operative of yours is roaming around free with a deadly weapon and the support of a powerful member of a powerful corporation."

"Head of an oil company, right?" McCrae's lips tugged at the corners at Gibbs' surprised expression. "Don't look so surprised; it seems that oil companies are at the base of everything these days. If you want to keep the name of this individual under wraps, that's your business. But something tells me that wasn't what you were planning to do when you came out here."

Gibbs hesitated. He had wondered long and hard about how much information he should share with the Canadian. Originally, he wasn't sure it would be wise to spill all of the facts he knew, but seeing as how the retired officer already knew a fair amount of the business already, he saw it was rather pointless to keep him too much in the dark. Besides, if McCrae was going to help him, he'd need all the facts he could get.

"Her name is Natalya Russikov." Gibbs said finally. "She's the CEO of the AISSEX oil company that runs out of Central Asia and Eastern Europe. According to our sources, she recently arrived in Washington for- quote, official business reasons. It was her oil facility that was blown up earlier today, which wasn't our doing in case you're wondering."

"I never doubted it." McCrae replied smoothly. "And you think Ms. Russikov is giving support to Ballack in some way."

"We don't suspect- we _know_ it." Gibbs felt his anger come through again. "She admitted it as much to us. She wasn't there," he added as McCrae looked at him with surprised eyes, "but there was a live feed emanating from somewhere that she was using. It was her that helped Ballack track down Ziva, it was her that passed on to him which team members she worked closely with, and it was her that helped manufacture the weapon Ballack was given on a grand scale."

"The Hellstorm serum." McCrae added thoughtfully. "Which he was meant to use to keep the world safe and instead decided to use it to become the world's most dangerous terrorist."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You really do know a lot about it, don't you?"

"I keep my eyes and ears open." The Lieutenant-Colonel replied. "What do you believe the reason to be for Ms. Russikov joining up with Asher?"

"We don't know at this point. It doesn't seem to make any sense that a person who utterly despised the influence of powerful corporations would join up with the leader of one. Then again, most of this case hasn't made much sense. All I can guess at the moment is that Ballack must have guaranteed her something in return for her help. Access to large profits through elimination of other oil competitors perhaps. It's a weak argument, but it's all we have right now."

"So why do you come to me, Agent Gibbs?" McCrae looked him in the eye. "I have a feeling you came here to do more than just tell me what a former agent of mine has been up to for the past three years."

"I want your help." Gibbs had debated with himself for the entire journey over there whether or not it would be wise to seek aid from an external source when this case had hit so close to home; in his view, his team _was_ his second home- his second family. Especially considering the fact that it was McCrae who had been in charge of Ballack when he was still in JTF2. In the end he had convinced himself that McCrae was a trustworthy enough person who could give legitimate help, and if it got them any closer to taking down Ballack he'd do it. "I want you to find out the extent of Natalya Russikov's reach here in Washington; anywhere she might have access to in order for storing and stockpiling resources or weapons. A woman that powerful has got to have some high-end friends in our government, so if you can try to do it as discreetly as possible."

"Why me?"

"Because whatever Ballack's planning is something major." Gibbs explained. "Something extremely dangerous. A plan like that requires a large amount of resource material; you can't just store something like that in any old garage. You need to put it somewhere large enough that it'll all fit together and discrete enough so it'll remain undetected until it's ready for use. Now I could go this alone or take my chances in enlisting the FBI to help me find that place, but something tells me it would be faster and more efficient to enlist someone who has experience in dealing with highly discrete and classified scenarios. Like you." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless of course you feel obligated to protect your own members of your former branch, rogue sociopathic killer or not."

"Asher is _not_ a true Canadian soldier." McCrae said firmly, staring the ex-marine right in his face. "Soldiers in the Canadian Forces require mental discipline. He has no control, no respect for any of us. All he can bring is chaos and destruction. And if you think I'm going to shield him just because he once served under me, you're not the marine I thought you were."

The two men stared at each other for a moment, neither saying a word, when they were interrupted by the sound of Gibbs' cell phone ringing. Facing forward, Gibbs brought it up to his ear and answered it. "Gibbs."

"We have a location on the warehouse." Ziva's voice came through the speaker. "It's owned by the AISSEX oil company on the eastern corner of the ship yard. Apparently, there has been a lot of activity there for the last couple of weeks. My guess is that they are using it to store mass productions of Hellstorm in preparation for their big plan. If that is true, we may be able to find both Ballack and Russikov there."

"Hopefully. You and DiNozzo head over for there immediately; I'll meet you there. Don't set foot inside until I get there- we need the element of surprise. Good work Ziva."

"Thank you Gibbs, but it is really Abby you should thank." Ziva replied. "She's the one who found it out and she's the one who has been working ceaselessly in order to track Ballack down. She deserves the credit. Her only desire is that we leave a piece of him for her to rip apart when we're done."

Gibbs smiled to himself. Abby was just as relentless as he was- that was one of the things he most appreciated about her. Even in her times of extreme grief, she got done what needed to be done. Perhaps when he and Ziva were finished with Ballack, he _would_ let Abby get a few shots it; see how well Ballack's regeneration abilities dealt with healing from Abby's spiked collar.

"Tell her she's the best scientist in all of the United States, Ziva. Tell her she's earned it. Now get over to the warehouse and wait for my arrival."

"Understood. And Gibbs," Ziva added, "just one bit of advice for you: bring extra magazines. A _lot_ of them. Trust me- you're going to need them against Asher."

Gibbs recalled Ziva's story about Ballack back in the bar and his newfound super speed and agility which he had used to avoid Ziva's bullets. It was such a surreal scenario he could not even picture it. Yet he knew it to be true despite this and he vowed to not let any of his team, himself included, take any more unnecessary chances.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Thanks Ziva." He hung up and looked over to his companion. "Well?"

McCrae spoke with a decisive tone only Gibbs himself could appreciate. "I'll guess from your conversation that you found something relevant to the case. You go and do whatever you need to do. I will try and search for anything Natalya Russikov has under ownership that she could use to store weapons. If I find anything, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks McCrae; I appreciate it."

"I hope you do." McCrae reached over and put his hand on the door handle. "Just watch how you go Gibbs. Ballack has not earned his reputation as the most dangerous soldier in Canadian history for nothing. With his newfound abilities, he's going to be almost impossible to put down. CSIS has tried to assassinate him. The CIA has tried to assassinate him. Mossad has tried to assassinate him. MI6 has tried to assassinate him. And yet he's still breathing. If I were you, I'd watch my back."

"Thanks for the advice." Gibbs said more to himself as McCrae got out of the car. But if it was up to him, the only one needing to watch their back will be Ballack.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review. Get ready: the next two chapters are going to be ACTION PACKED!!! If I get enough reviews, I might upload them quicker, so hit the green button! **


	17. Chapter 15

**A/N: Wow. Two straight chapters with no reviews, then when I reveal the next two are action packed- all of sudden there's like six reviews to the last one! Amazing! Cdngater: Yeah, being the patriotic Canadian that I am I like to slip all kinds of Canadian things into my stories! The first name of Natalya Russikov is also one- it's a reference to the very talented (but much underutilized) Canadian WWE Diva Nattie "Natalya" Neidhart!**

**Chapter 15**

The warehouse on the eastern corner of the shipyard certainly seemed to Gibbs to be an ideal spot for the mass storage of a deadly potential weapon of mass destruction. Secluded from most of the rest of the area, it was almost completely isolated behind a group of large shipping crates and had the aura of being a literal heart for illicit activity. Even though it seemed to be only two storeys high, there had to be at least thirty-five to forty feet between the ground and the top of the roof. Stretching at least as far as three regular family-sized houses in length and width, the entire exterior was plated with what appeared to be a solid black titanium-based metal, far stronger than the exteriors of many of the warehouses that he had come across in his life. It was almost as if this warehouse had been specifically designed to withstand any exterior strike by an external force, something he had never seen in a non-combat area before and certainly not within the United States. Though it made logical sense for a large oil company to protect its supply, even a powerful one like AISSEX wouldn't need this amount of reinforcement. The fact that its CEO was aligned with a former elite soldier-turned terrorist set his mind in a very uneasy state.

He subconsciously pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he walked up towards the front entrance. Having been forced to leave the NCIS van behind the crates, he drew his weapon as he approached; the last thing he wanted to do was be caught off guard before he even got inside, and not just because it may cost him his life- he would be the talk of NCIS for months about how he, the team leader, let himself get killed before he entered the damn place.

Walking carefully to avoid making to much noise, he stiffened when he heard a sound to his right, but as he brought his weapon towards it, he immediately pointed up towards the sky as Ziva and Tony came around the corner.

"You two scope out the area?" Gibbs asked as he walked towards them.

"Yeah boss." Tony nodded. "The front door is on the only entrance and exit here on the groundside. Seems a bit strange considering how large the place is, but it also makes it easier for us to be covered. The rest of the NCIS backup should be here in about ten or fifteen minutes…"

"Which is nowhere near long enough for us to risk waiting out here." Ziva interrupted. "We have no idea what is happening inside the warehouse. It leads out straight to a dock in the back; for all we know they could be preparing to launch something by that way- smuggle out their weapons, launch an attack by boat, anything. We cannot afford to merely stand by while they are planning right within our grasp. We have to go in now!"

"Ziva, in case you've forgotten, we're just three agents." Tony replied coolly. "Now granted you're an ultra-deadly assassin, Gibbs is an ultra-deadly sniper and I'm… well, I'm an all around jack-of-all-trades. Now under normal circumstances we three would be a near-unstoppable combination, but if what you say about Ballack is true we're slightly out-skilled here. The last time you made a decision to go charging after Ballack without any back-up you got a beat-down almost as bad as Apollo Creed in _Rocky IV_. This is just my personal opinion, but I really don't think you're too eager to go through that again. We have to wait for the rest of the NCIS crew to back us up."

"And how are they going to back us up Tony?" Ziva stared right into his eyes. "I've seen what Asher is capable of up close. Have you ever heard of a Mossad assassin being outmatched in both firearm and hand-to-hand combat by a single individual? If Asher can kill two CIA operatives, two Mossad agents and a member of CSIS all at the same time, what do you suppose he'd do to a back-up team of NCIS agents?"

"Probably nothing quite as bad as what he'd do to two NCIS agents and one Mossad officer." The senior field agent responded. "If there's one thing I learned as cop, it's that you never go into an unknown situation by yourself; you have someone you trust who watches your back, and if you don't have that then you shouldn't be going into it in the first place."

"Damn it Tony, this isn't about trust! If we give Asher the slightest room to escape he'll take it and we won't hear anything from him again until some massive act of destruction happens! If we wait for the back-up to arrive, he _will_ get away!"

"How the hell would you know something like that?"

"I know _him_! I know what he's capable of. _You_ don't! You have no idea! That's why we have to go in now!"

"If you think I'm going to let you walk into another ambush by Mr. Johnny Canuck-in-the-trench-coat, then you're-"

"Enough!" Both Tony and Ziva stopped their argument immediately at the sound of Gibbs' outburst. Looking at him, the former marine sniper glared at his two top field agents.

"_I_ am the team leader here and I decide what moves this team makes! The last time a decision was made to go off on a personal decision, I had three junior agents killed and two top ones seriously injured."

"Exactly boss!" Tony piped up confidently. "And that's why we should wait for-"

"However," Gibbs interrupted, "sometimes we have to make decisions we're not too fond about." He looked up directly towards them. "Technically you're right, DiNozzo. Going in there without any back-up would be a very stupid thing, and technically even suggesting it would warrant a head slap."

Ziva raised an eyebrow, almost as if she was anticipating such a move by Gibbs and was ready to confront it. But the team leader merely went on, "But at this point I don't think we have much choice. Ziva is right; the longer we delay out here the more time Ballack and anyone else in there will have in order to prepare themselves. We can't let that happen knowing what we do. We're going to have to take the chance on our own."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Uh, boss? I really don't want to sound like I'm criticizing you or anything, but doesn't that give any hostiles in the building the tactical advantage?"

Gibbs stared right back at Tony, and the senior field agent unconsciously took a step back. "What tactical advantage would that be, DiNozzo?"

"Well, what I mean is that, wouldn't it make more sense if we went in as a large team that could watch each other's backs. I mean correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it going into a place unprepared what got us into this situation in the first place?"

Gibbs took a step towards Tony, who took a very conscious deep breath of air. The ex-sniper glared at his junior officer, his face very similar to the one he used when interrogating an uncooperative suspect. It was not something Tony had experienced often, nor was it one he enjoyed being on the receiving end of when he did.

"Which situation would you be talking about DiNozzo? Would it be the one where three of our junior field agents were ambushed and slaughtered like farm animals? Or would it be the one where McGee was beaten within an inch of his life and left for dead? Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that the situation, as you call it, that you're referring to? Or maybe you're referring to the incident where the most able-bodied member of our team was nearly physically decimated by the same individual? Which is it DiNozzo? Which situation of those fits your description of making the wrong move at the wrong time?"

Tony's mouth opened slightly, as though he was going to respond to Gibbs' onslaught of questions, but he found he could offer no honest reply. His famous charm and seemingly endless wit lost on this occasion, he could not give an accurate answer to the leader's demands. His voice caught in his throat and instead of words he managed to expel some sort of weak excuse for a wondering sigh. Under Gibbs' stare he quickly found himself closing his mouth and standing slightly straighter than he was used to.

His point clearly made, Gibbs turned towards Ziva. "Now with that being said Ziva, DiNozzo does have a point; the last time you went after Ballack he gave you much more than even what you could take. That's why we're going to do this as a cohesive unit. Personally I couldn't care less what Mossad states about tracking down a hostile individual, but this isn't Mossad or Israel. This is NCIS. And in NCIS, we do things the proper way. That means no vigilante hunts for the purposes of revenge. If we're going to take Ballack down, we're going to do it as a team- together. If I have to call Ducky down here because you decided it was more important for your assassin's pride to take him down yourself and got yourself killed instead of relying on the support of your team, I am personally going to find a way to bring you back for the dead just so I can tell you how pissed off I am."

"I'll do what needs to be done Gibbs." Ziva's tone was unsurprisingly cool in response to Gibbs' half-serious, half-joking tone. "I just hope you will do the same if you are able to. Just one point; Asher's livelihood doesn't mean much to me right now and neither does Natalya Russikov's. So if you do have to call Ducky down here, it'll be because he'll have at least one if not two dead terrorists to cut up."

"Take it easy David." Gibbs order sternly. "Our priority is taking Ballack alive. And that goes the same for Russikov, if she is indeed here. Remember, we still have next to no information on what they're planning or how they're planning to execute it. We need at least one of them breathing in order to tell us that in order to stop it. Or have you already forgotten how important it is to gain vital intelligence to stop a possible major terrorist attack?"

"I can gain vital information from a person before they meet their 'tragically accidental' demise." Ziva responded slightly indifferently.

Gibbs applied his stare to the Mossad officer. Although she managed to resist it for a record twenty seconds, eventually she caved in to the pressure by the team leader. "Fine," she responded curtly. "I will do everything I can in order to make sure we have no casualties- for the sake of the countless of innocent people that it may save in the future. But I cannot guarantee that; if Asher gives me no other choice, I am going to put him up permanently."

"Put him _down_, Zee-vah." Tony corrected. He quickly recoiled from the glares he received from the other two.

"Let's blow up that bridge when we come to it, alright?" Gibbs said. "Right now we have to make sure there actually _is_ target for us to try to take alive. The longer we delay, the harder our job may become. If there are no more smart-ass questions or remarks," he looked towards Tony, "I suggest we get moving."

There was no argument from either Tony or Ziva, and the two agents quickly joined the ex-marine in drawing their weapons. The three teammates quietly and quickly stacked up against the door; Ziva took the left side while Gibbs and Tony took the right. The team leader held up his hand and motioned for Ziva to check the door. Carefully, while putting her ear to the door, she cautiously checked the handle. It turned easily in her hand, indicating the entrance was unlocked and ready for entry. Listening carefully, she detected no noise from behind the heavily-plated door- no breathing, no cocking of guns, nothing. _Which means_, Ziva thought to herself, _that any occupants inside are either completely unprepared for an attack or else are just lying in wait_. Even though it gave her an uneasy feeling, she nodded to Gibbs that they had a clear entrance way through the door.

Gibbs held up a hand and extended three fingers. Slowly and steadily, he moved them down one at a time. When he made a fist, he made eye contact with Ziva and gave a quick nod of his head.

Ziva quickly pushed the door open and the three NCIS agents burst in through the door. Ziva and Tony took up the front, moving their guns around the sides of the room to check for hostiles, while Gibbs quickly moved in to close the door and cut off any immediate possible exit. Ziva and Tony scanned the front of the room, their eyes searching for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. When it was clear that there was nothing hostile in the room, Tony lowered his weapon and let out a heavy sigh as he looked forwards. "Damn."

The room the three found themselves in was a relatively medium sized area; there were probably no more than ten or fifteen yards between the front entrance and the other end. Being brightly lit by high-intensity lights on a relatively low ceiling, the reflection off the walls was difficult to look at for an extended period of time. Semi-closing his eyes against this slightly over-whelming scene, Gibbs quickly discovered the reason for Tony's dismayed remark.

On the left side of the back area was a large metal staircase leading directly upwards for perhaps fifty metres and then curved off to the right out of view, presumably leading to the higher section. In Gibbs' experience as a sniper, if there was one threat you had to watch out for it was from above. A sniper could be your best friend or your worst enemy, and having been both himself he knew that it would be dangerous to let an individual who possessed the sniper skills that Ballack possessed have a clear shot at any intruders.

On the other end of the back wall was a brightly-lit hallway, which like the staircase extended forward for quite a few metres and then curved to the side, this one making a ninety degree turn to the left. There was no indication as to where it led but the one place he was sure it _didn't_ lead was up the stairs. Gibbs clenched his jaw in frustration; there was no way for the team to cover all the ground at the same if they stayed together. They couldn't risk leaving a possible escape path unchecked; the last thing he wanted was to be part of another high speed pursuit, this one possibly with a super-upgraded ex-elite soldier. They just couldn't take that chance and for the second time in a minute he again found himself making a decision he did not relish.

"Since you've already put it in the most simple and direct way DiNozzo," he said in a slightly sarcastic tone, "I'll be the first to say that, yes- the situation is not overly in our favour. We have two different paths leading away from each other, and there appears to be no way we can stay together in order to search this place without leaving a possible escape route."

"This means we're going to have to split up." Ziva replied grimly. _The very thing Asher most likely wants us to do_.

"Split up?" Tony's voice reflected his incredulous feelings at that moment. "Boss, didn't you just say that the best course of action would be to stay together and not go off on any separate vigilante hunts? We already have no back-up in case things get ugly and if we separate it's just going to make it more difficult for us to keep each other covered."

"And if we stand around here arguing DiNozzo," Gibbs replied tersely, "we may lose our only opportunity to end this situation before it truly gets under way. Now this may be the marine in me speaking, but personally I'd rather not wait until Ballack and Russikov are primed and ready to unleash their capabilities on the city or whatever they're planning on doing. Now, this is the way it's going to go down; I'm going to follow this corridor here on the right and see where it ends up. In warehouses like this one, it's likely this will lead to the back area, while the stairs over there likely lead to an overview area on the second floor. You two go up there and keep me covered; if this path does lead to the main storage section, I'm going to need all the cover I can get."

"But wouldn't it make more sense if you went up the stairs boss?" Tony asked. "I mean, you're the big bad marine sniper in all; wouldn't you be the better candidate for providing support from above?"

"You know in most instances DiNozzo, you'd be right. Unfortunately, for this occasion I don't happen to have a sniper rifle with me, so that's going to complicate matters just a little bit. The two of you are both adept enough with handguns that as a unit you should make up for any lack of long-range distance practice you have. Unless of course you'd prefer to stay here and guard the front entrance to wait for back-up while Ziva and I take our respective paths. Though taking into account the fact that Ballack is probably counting on us to separate and in the process make ourselves easier targets, I'm not sure just how wise that would be. But the choice is entirely yours; would you care to stay here and guard the entrance yourself?"

Tony replied in a rather forced tone, "No boss."

"Good. Now then, let's get moving. I think we've lost enough valuable time here just standing here chatting away."

"Gibbs," Ziva interjected. "Be careful; I know you are a fully trained former marine but Asher is an anomaly in and of himself. Without his abilities, he was tough enough to handle as he was. With them, he is virtually invulnerable to any conventional means of attack. If you come across him, make every bullet count- believe me when I say you'll need every last one of them."

Gibbs felt a swell of pride come up through him even though his overall expression remained business like. The old Ziva was back in full force- serious and full of no-nonsense. He much preferred that to the weak, frail figure he had seen lying in the hotel bed just the previous evening. Even if she could be too independently minded sometimes, she had an undeniable talent and skills that no one else on his team possessed. And he would gladly take that over a more docile and less efficient Ziva any day of his life. He just hoped they would all be around long enough to reap the benefits of that.

"I'll be on my guard, but frankly Ziva, if anyone needs to watch themselves around Ballack, it should be you." Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "He may have left you alive the last time- he might not be in such a giving mood this time."

Ziva cocked her head. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to force him into one. Provided my _partner_ will be there to support me when I do." She cast a sidelong glance at Tony.

Tony stared at her for a moment before replying firmly, "I'll do what I have to do."

Gibbs gave a curt nod. "In that case, let's get moving." The three teammates raised their guns to the ready position and started off down their designated paths.

As he walked down the brightly lit corridor, Gibbs began wondering whether or not Tony had been right and he had made a mistake. _Had_ it been wrong of him to have him and Ziva search the upper area while he took the lower path? Granted he had been right when he had said that without a rifle, his sniper skills were notably less affective, but what about the skills of the other two? Ziva undoubtedly could handle just about any situation and Tony had seen enough combat situations to adapt to almost any scenario, but it just didn't seem right to him that he should force two agents untrained in providing fire from high positions without the adequate weapons to cover him from above. If he succeeded in finding Ballack himself, he would make sure the treacherous rogue soldier would never again be able to hurt his team- one way or the other.

His thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as he slowly and cautiously rounded the corridor and looked down the hallway towards the end. This path was also brightly lit and only about twenty metres long. A large metal door stood at the end, the light brightly shining off the surface.

Gibbs carefully made his way down the corridor and stopped just to the left of the door. Following Ziva's example, he listened closely for any sign of movement or life within the room, but the metal made it virtually impossible for anyone listening to hear what was going on. Gibbs cursed under his breath; looks like he was going to have to do this the old fashioned way.

Standing directly in front of the door, Gibbs reared back and unleashed a devastating kick just below the handle. The door immediately swung open and the ex-marine sniper burst in, weapon scanning the area.

The room that he found himself in was quite small- a mere storage room by the looks of it. Wooden crates were stacked everywhere, piled against the walls- some large and some small. The ex-sniper went over to one of them and, careful to avoid contaminating evidence, lifted the lid, hoping to find something conclusive that would tell them something of what they could be facing. But instead, all he found were a few basic weapons and ammunition. Though disappointed, he made a note to have them collected once the warehouse was cleared. The fewer weapons that were in the hands of Ballack and Russikov, he figured, the better off they would be.

He was just considering whether he should leave this room and go back to see if he could give assistance to Ziva and Tony, when he spotted out of the corner of his eye a long metal box lying against the wall. It caught his attention since all the other boxes in the room were wooden and seemed relatively unimportant. This one seemed to give off a different sense than the others.

Crossing the room, he knelt down beside the box and opened the lid. His eyebrows rose up as he stared down at the sole piece of equipment in it- a fully assembled, high-tech sniper rifle.

His gut instinct told him that this weapon was most likely the very same one used to kill the Mossad agent back in the alleyway, and if Ballack was indeed the one who had used it, as Ziva had suggested, then it was all the more important that he not be given a chance to retrieve it.

As he reached for the rifle, there was a sudden dimmer of light in the room. His hand frozen over the scoped part, his eyes went to the ceiling and he watched as the bright lights within them flickered, appeared to be on the verge of going out, and then slowly started to brighten again.

Gibbs' heart started to beat at a faster pace. His gut instinct, which he had relied on so many times to save his life, kicked in again; this time it was telling him that he should go back, immediately, towards the front entrance area and follow his two team members up the stairs. He felt that he should go back and give them his full support, in whatever way possible.

That was, of course, if he still wanted to have two teammates still alive at the end of this ordeal…

***

Tony and Ziva quickly but quietly made their way up the stairs. Ziva, being the more experienced at approaching a hostile stealthily, took up the front while Tony kept her covered from the back. Their feet barely made any noise as they climbed the metal steps; it was clear that the slightest premature sound could give away their element of surprise. With someone like Asher, Ziva knew, that could be fatal error. She had made the mistake of underestimating him the first time back in that bar. She would not make the same mistake again.

As they neared the top of the staircase, Ziva could see a metal door just opposite the stairs on a small platform about five metres away from the top step. There was a small glass window near the top of the door. Quietly, she motioned to Tony to take up position on the left side of the door, while she took up the right side. Cautiously, she peered through the window.

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight; standing with his back to the door, at a metal railing on a long steel platform about fifteen yards away from the door's entrance, was none other than Asher himself. There was no mistaking it; decked out in the same leather trench coat as he was in the bar, she could see the arms of the shades barely visible against his short dark hair. Quickly, she pulled away from the window. "That's him." She whispered to Tony. "That's Asher."

Tony peered through the window and observed the lone figure overlooking the lower back storage area of the warehouse. "_That's_ the most dangerous soldier to ever come out of Canada?" He whispered back slightly incredulously. "The guy looks like he went out and stole his entire costume from Neo in _The Matrix_! What's so special about him?"

"Tony!" Even though her voice was low, there was no mistaking the intensity in Ziva's voice. "That rip-off, as you constantly refer to him, is responsible for the deaths of many trained intelligence agents from various countries, not to mention the fact that he also killed three NCIS agents and put McGee in the hospital! Now what do you think he'd do to you, an ex-police officer, if given half the chance?" She glared at him.

"Well, I-"

"Don't answer; it was a sarcastic question. Now, listen to me carefully; we are going to go in heavy and fully prepared. Keep your gun on him and be ready to fire and quickly reload. Despite what Gibbs said, the chances of him letting us take him alive are very slim. Do not argue with me on this; I know what he's like. I hope you brought extra magazines because you are definitely going to need them."

"Of course I brought extra mags!" Tony looked almost offended. "I'm an ex-cop; you pick-up a few tricks of the trade in my line of business!"

"Well in my line of business, you have to be prepared to kill without hesitation. If you give Asher half a chance, he _will_ kill you! Now shut up and follow my lead."

There was little room for argument or debate at a time like this, and under Ziva's stare, which was nearly as intimidating as Gibbs', Tony found himself in the ready to enter position he had taken up so many times as a cop.

Ziva waited for a moment, and then looked directly at him and nodded.

Tony reared back and kicked the door open with a resounding crash. He and Ziva burst through the door and aimed their weapons directly at the back of the Canadian.

"NCIS!" Tony shouted. "Get your hands in the air!"

"There's no way for you escape this time, Asher!" Ziva shouted, her voice almost as dangerous as the weapon she carried in her hands.

"I've been wondering how long it would take you to figure it out." Asher's gravelly voice was completely calm and collective. Without turning around, he slowly slid his hands off the guardrail to his sides. "How long it would take you to put the pieces together- start to gain an understanding of the sacrifices that must be made for the good of humanity. You should see things as I do- it would make things a lot clearer. Although I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to turn up so soon."

"I told you to put your hands in the air and turn around slowly!" Tony shouted in a voice reminiscent of his old cop days. There was a definite edge to his voice, and why shouldn't there be? It was his friend and fellow agent that was in the hospital's ER room because of this individual. "Do not make this more difficult for yourself than it has to be!"

"Tony DiNozzo, I presume." Asher said in the same tone, still not turning around. "You must be Ziva's new partner in her new little outfit. A difficult and often tragic position; has she told you how many people she worked with have gotten killed doing their job? Still, that doesn't matter much." He tilted his head slightly downwards and slowly raised his hands to slide off his sunglasses. "You're starting to become a little too much of an… _inconvenience_ for me…"

Sliding his sunglasses off, he raised his head and look straight ahead. Though the two NCIS agents couldn't see it, his darks eyes glared straight ahead. Anyone watching them closely enough would have seen an orange flash dart across them, just for a second, before disappearing into their cold depths…

Still staring away from Ziva and Tony, Asher suddenly and without warning flung his sunglasses directly and accurately straight towards the Mossad agent.

Ziva's brain processed the information at almost complete polar opposites of speed at the exact same time. One second, she could see the reflective lenses of Asher's shades as the glasses spun directly towards her face, as if almost by slow motion. The next thing she knew, she had automatically thrown up her left hand, forcing her to point her weapon in her right hand away from Ballack, and caught the sunglasses with her free hand. Staring at them in near astonishment at how they had been used as a weapon, she hesitated. A split second later, a gloved hand snatched them from her grasp. Asher quickly tossed the shades into his left hand, and using his now free right one grabbed hold of Tony's pistol along the barrel, preventing him from aiming or getting an accurate shot off. Whirling around, he launched a vicious left elbow into Ziva's chest, knocking her back towards the doorway to the staircase. Overcome with the sudden shock of the attack and the heavy landing on the steel floor, she quickly tightened her grip on her pistol to prevent herself from dropping it down the staircase.

Asher, still holding onto his sunglasses in the one hand, now grabbed onto to Tony's pistol with both hands. The senior field agent immediately did the same in an attempt to stop the Canadian from wrenching his weapon from him, and struggled to pull it free from his grasp. In the blink of an eye, he raised his arms to his head level so the barrel was facing towards the ceiling and then suddenly twisted his whole body, including his arms, around 360°. Tony felt his feet leave the ground and spin around in mid-air so he was facing the ceiling. Asher released his grip on the gun and dropped him heavily towards the floor; Tony's back slammed against the metal, eliciting a heavy grunt of pain from him.

Asher spun back around in the direction of the doorway, whipping his left hand out towards the ground; the arms of his sunglasses flew back out to their ready-to-use position. Coolly and calmly, he raised the shades towards his face and slid them back on. A mix of smugness and indifference on his face, he looked up towards the doorway.

Ziva stood up and immediately raised her weapon. She began squeezing off rounds towards the former JTF2 operative. Asher made a sudden movement to the right and for a split second seemed to disappear before re-appearing a few metres away, out of the line of fire. Ziva readjusted her aim and fired again, and Asher quickly bent his torso backwards, again disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye, this time standing in the same spot while he dodged the incoming bullets.

As he straightened up defiantly again, Ziva launched herself forwards and drove her shoulder into Ballack's abdomen. The force of the impact sent the Canadian stumbling back a few feet; then came the screeching of his shoes against the metal as he resisted her push before coming to a complete stop.

Asher raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as Ziva grunted in frustration in a futile attempt to push him back further. A small smirk appeared on his face at her efforts, and without warning drove his knee into her still-recovering ribcage. Ziva gasped at the unexpected wave of pain that followed, which was soon followed by a vicious elbow to her back ribcage that caused her to go temporarily limp in his grasp. A cool look on his face, Asher whirled and threw Ziva towards the guardrail. Smashing into it at full force, she let out a grunt of pain as collapsed to her hands and knees.

Despite the pain, she merely clenched her teeth and raised her pistol again, pulling the trigger and firing off more rounds towards her target. Asher immediately launched himself backwards in order to dodge the rounds. Landing on his hands, he flipped his feet to the ground and immediately launched backwards onto his hands again while the bullets flew just past him. Landing on his feet, he threw himself sideways in the same direction as before, his face cool and impassive as a bullet flew just under his face. When he landed right-side up again, he turned towards Tony, who was just getting his feet. Foolishly, the senior field agent through a straight left at Asher's face, which the Canadian easily caught. Spinning around in a complete circle, he tucked Tony's arm behind his back and pulled back; Tony whirled around in a 360° spin and ended up with Asher holding his own arm across his throat. The look of self-satisfaction on Asher's face was evident as Ziva froze; she dared not shoot now- not with Tony between her gun and Ballack. The risk of firing at Asher would put her partner in far too much danger of being hit. Her only option now was to try to distract Asher's attention away from harming Tony.

"Why are you doing this Asher?" Ziva strove to keep her voice and her gun steady, even though inside the sight of Tony in such a vulnerable position made her extremely worried and nervous. "You were part of an elite unit designed to _combat_ terrorism! Now you're a terrorist yourself! What is your plan for Hellstorm? What do you hope to accomplish by unleashing it on the world?"

"Every single day," Asher spoke methodically as he tightened his grasp on Tony, who now seemed to be gasping in an effort to breathe, "humanity takes one further step closer to mutual self-annihilation. Don't you understand? I'm not destroying the world, Ziva; I'm _saving it from itself_…"

Ziva eyes made contact with Tony, and in a split second she saw it; a small but curt nod from the field officer. Without warning, Tony launched an elbow towards Asher's face; the ex-JTF2 agent quickly moved to dodge and released his grasp on Tony's arm. Ziva stepped forwards and fired another shot at Asher's head. There was a dark blur, and Asher was suddenly behind both of them. Tony wheeled around, bringing his gun up towards the ready position, only to catch a hard right hook by Asher right in his jaw. The force of the blow knocked him into facing the other direction. Fighting to ignore the pain in his face, he whirled around and through a right back-handed blow towards Ballack; Asher threw up his right hand and blocked the blow. A second later Ziva fired a direct shot at his face, and almost as if by slow motion Ballack tilted his head to left just enough to avoid the oncoming round. In a lightning flash, he knocked Ziva's pistol away from his direction, and then immediately shot out a right fist which hit Tony right in the temple, stunning him for a moment and sending him stumbling back several feet. Almost instantly, he turned back towards Ziva and shot up a left hand to block the incoming kick she sent at his head. As she gritted her teeth in frustration and brought her gun back towards his direction, he grabbed hold of her weapon and her forearm and pushed it away to her left. Tony spun back around and brought his gun, in one hand, towards Asher's face; the Canadian released his hold on Ziva's weapon and used his right hand to knock Tony's away just as it fired, the bullet missing Ballack's head by an inch. Throwing the arms of the NCIS agents in opposite directions, he grabbed of the fronts of both of their shirts and pitched them backwards over the edge of the guardrail.

Ziva and Tony sailed through the air towards the bottom floor. Though the fall couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty feet, the bottom was made entirely of steel, and both agents immediately felt the impact as they crashed heavily. Ziva let out a cry of pain as her damaged ribs took another serious blow; she was sure this time they she had at least cracked some of them again if not broken them this time. She forced herself to stay focused and bite back any sign of weakness or pain.

A groan to her left brought her attention to Tony, who was painfully picking himself on his hands and knees. "Okay, I admit it." He said in a strained, pained voice. "This guy's tough!"

"We can't let him continue like this!" Ziva quickly moved over towards him and helped him stand up. "We have to hold him here until Gibbs and the rest of the back-up arrives!"

"Yeah, well for me," he replied, "I hope that's sooner rather than later!"

Ziva looked up towards the guardrail to locate Asher; the Canadian stared down at them for a moment before flipping himself over the guardrail and come flying down towards them.

"Look out!" Ziva cried.

The two partners quickly moved back as Asher came swooping down like a black angel of death. His boots caused a massive echo throughout the building as they came slamming down onto the metal ground, and the NCIS agents immediately pointed their weapons at him. As Asher slowly drew himself to full height, a large blaring noise started echoing throughout the entire lower area; some sort of alarm. As Ziva and Tony looked around the area, there was a sudden loud click and one of the main lights for the section went off, cloaking the particular area in darkness.

"Things are really starting to heat up now, eh Ziva?" Asher said impassively. He cocked his head to the side in interest. "Do you even know if it's _possible_ to kill me?"

"Either way," Ziva replied venomously, "as long as I'm still breathing, I am _never_ going to give up!"

Asher reared his head back, a large grin spreading over his face, as he let out a low laugh. "Well then," he responded smoothly, "I guess I'll just have to give you a reason to _stop_ breathing…" He raised his eyebrows. "Old partner…"

Ziva and Tony stood with their weapons aimed directly at the Canadian, and as they stood trying to decide their next move another loud click echoed throughout the room. The floodlight which illuminated both them and their opponent slowly went out, plunging the area into near oblivion.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	18. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Ziva and Tony immediately began sweeping the area in front of them with their weapons, looking for any sign of movement. Though the darkness that engulfed the general spot where they stood was by no means pitch black there a definite sense of obscurity surrounding them, and that made it more dangerous for the two; without back-up, armed with only handguns and without the proper equipment to see in the dark, they were at a serious disadvantage. Asher's Hellstorm capabilities allowed him to see in the obscurity as clearly as if it were a brightly lit room, and considering that his advantages were numerous enough as it was, Ziva thought to herself, she and Tony were in a very bad predicament.

Her eyes darting back and forth in the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of here traitorous ex-partner, Ziva stiffened up as she heard his voice permeate from somewhere around her. Hidden by the lack of light, he nevertheless sounded just as cool as he had when they had first confronted him up on the catwalk. His gravelly voice radiated off the metal walls and pillars in the surrounding area, making it virtually impossible to accurately pinpoint his location.

"Your determination is annoyingly admirable Ziva, but your Mossad tracking skills can't help you. It just gives you a bigger adrenaline rush throughout your body and makes your heart beat even faster."

Ziva's jaw muscles clenched tightly; her pistol hand began to sweat as she struggled to keep it steady. One slip of her finger could very well set off a stray bullet, which could not only ricochet off of something and come right back at them, but would also give Asher their exact location. Considering that he was alluding to the fact that his abilities would allow him to hear the pounding of their hearts and locate them easily enough on his own, she had no intention of making it any easier for him. Not when so much was at stake- not when the life of her partner as well as her own was at stake.

Then Tony suddenly said abruptly, "Quick- back-to-back!"

"What?" Ziva's could barely keep the edge out of her voice as her eyes darted back and forth in the obscurity.

"I said, 'back-to-back!'. Turn yourself around so that we're facing opposite directions. Haven't you ever seen any of those 'buddy-cop' films where the two partners have to watch the other's-"

"Damn it, Tony, this is not the time for a movie reference!" Ziva's tone stopped just short of growling out the words; childish as the man was, how could he possibly take the time to think up a scenario from some equally childish movie at a time like _this_? Not to mention the fact if they were facing opposite directions as he described, how could either of them watch each other's backs at the same time? Regardless, she wasn't sure she wanted him watching her backside with his wandering, easily-distracted eye, and she wasn't going to give him the pleasure of having to watch his. _Then again… damn it Ziva, concentrate_!

Her thoughts immediately returned to the present situation and whatever might have been going through her head at that moment was instantly wiped away as Tony's agitated voice cut through the darkness. "My point isn't about the movies, Ziva! Would you rather be blind-sided by your not so friendly ex-partner? It's a tactical move! Now- quick!"

Taking matters into his own hands, the senior field agent immediately spun around and pressed his back to hers, keeping his gun sweeping the area behind her while she kept up the position in the front. Taking the time to slide a new magazine into her weapon, she started breathing at an easier pace and silently thanked Tony; she had allowed herself to become distracted and by doing so had put them both in even greater danger. She was grateful for his quick thinking and taking control of the situation and she made a mental note to herself that if- no, _when_- they got out of this she would be- well, more tolerant towards his childish antics. She owed him that much.

The hostile third voice, still as cool and calm as before, penetrated the air. "Admirable." Asher declared gravelly. "But completely pointless. Neither of you can cover all directions around you at the same time; your overwhelming control over your surroundings which you've been used to for so long is starting to slip away bit by bit."

"Frankly Asher, I was planning on having a long 'discussion' with you when this is all said and done about what exactly your twisted view of the world involved," Ziva called out rather tersely, "but now I think I'll just have the pleasure of putting a round in your skull. Why don't you save yourself the misery of me finding you and come out here?"

"Can you feel it Ziva? That sense of power and authority- the invulnerability that you felt as a member of Mossad- drain from you? Have you ever felt you were put on this earth for a different reason; a purpose other than to kill your home country's true or imagined enemies? The fact is, only a few select individuals have the power to restore order and balance to the world; individuals like you and me. For the good of all of humanity, we who are willing to make massive sacrifices must eliminate the root of the problem- even if the root is much of humanity itself. Has it ever occurred to you that this planet might be slightly overpopulated?"

"What is this- the boss fight in a video game where the villain reveals his ultimate plan while throwing out bad one-liners?" Tony shouted out angrily. "Do you take all your lines from movie characters? Show yourself Ballack!"

There was a momentary pause. Then came the cool, indifferent tone. "I'm right here DiNozzo."

"Tony!" The senior field agent whirled around at Ziva's loud startling shout. His eyes immediately went directly forward in the direction that she was aiming her weapon and as he saw what she had in her line of sight, he quickly raised his own weapon to shoulder height.

Asher, not more than twenty or thirty meters in front of them, was brusquely walking in their direction. Completely unperturbed at the fact that he was facing down the barrels of not one but two guns, he seemed to have no moving at a faster pace other than this sort of predatorily stalking; the way a pissed off lion might move toward a cornered antelope. Even though they couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, there could be little doubt as to his predatory expression- combining focus with satisfaction- that he wore outwardly.

"Ballack!" Tony squeezed the trigger and began firing off rounds towards the Canadian, while Ziva immediately did the same. Tony gritted his teeth in frustration, hoping to hell that he would actually be able to land at least one of his shots on the super-powered ex-JTF2 agent; he had spent plenty of magazines in shootouts before but never had it been as aggravating as _this_! Or as dangerous…

There were a flash of dark blurs as Asher made a series of dodges in accordance with the trajectory of the NCIS agents' gunfire; the air where his body was the split second after he moved seemed to be sucked in and held in suspension for a second, unable to keep up with his newly enhanced speed, leaving the dark blur of his leather trench coat colour behind. The Canadian bent to the right, dropped down to one hand, and bent all the way backward as the bullets flew through the area he had just been half a second before. Then, in the blink of an eye, he had crouched down, lowered his shoulder, and made a sudden and unexpected charge towards his adversaries. In a flash he had crossed the twenty or so metres between them and immediately went on the offensive.

Leaping forward, he grabbed hold of the barrel of Tony's gun with his left hand, preventing him from getting a clear shot off, while simultaneously sending his left foot out past the ex-cop; the blow struck Ziva straight in the upper chest, sending her flying backwards several feet and knocking her down. Standing up and turning back towards Tony, Asher gave a sudden twist to his wrist, causing his weapon to go flying across the floor. While Tony temporarily bent his head over in pain, Asher delivered a lighting fast right uppercut to his jaw, and while Tony's head snapped back there was another blur; Asher disappeared and reappeared a split second later, crouched on the ground with one foot while delivering a whirling right leg to the back of Tony's calves. Tony felt his feet fly up in the air, and he barely had the time to grunt in pain as he came crashing back down before the Canadian had focused on his other target.

Standing back up, Ziva hurriedly aimed and fired quickly at her ex-partner while Asher dodged back and forth, disappearing and reappearing as he closed the distance between them. Clenching her jaw in frustration, she tried to move her weapon quicker in the direction she predicted he would move and get a shot off before he dodged back to the other side, but it was hopeless; he was moving just too fast for her to get a good aim and pull the trigger. After four dodges he was right up in front of her. Skilfully knocking her gun out of her hand to the floor out of her reach, he swept his left leg to the back of her knees, forcing her to fall painfully into a crouching position. There was no sadism in his face- merely a cool demeanour and indifference as he seized her with his right hand by the throat and applied just a little bit of pressure.

Ziva gave a choked gasp of pain as she grabbed hold of his forearm with both hands; her eyes squeezed shut and her jaw muscles clenched, she strained every muscle in her arms in an attempt to pry her ex-partner's hand off but it was hopeless. If she didn't know better, she would've said that he had gotten even stronger since their last encounter, if that was even possible. He casually moved her head slowly from side-to-side, apparently using next-to-no effort as he slightly increased the pressure. Ziva could've sworn she heard something crack as his iron fingers dug into her windpipe, and she saw the dark edges of oblivion begin to fog her vision at the sides of her eyes…

Asher promptly released his hold and immediately took a single large step back. As she collapsed to the floor, Ziva caught a glimpse of Tony jump in front of her, putting himself between her and Ballack. The ex-cop immediately let fly with a series of punches directed towards their opponent's head; the ex-JTF2 agent casually dodged away from them, moving just enough so that Tony's blows landed in the air mere centimetres away from their intended target. Tony threw a straight right directly at Asher's face, only to have the Canadian block the blow nonchalantly with his left palm and then immediately clamped down on the senior agent's hand. Holding Tony's fist in an unbreakable grip, he said in a long, bored drawl, "How shamefully disappointing."

Tony gritted his teeth; it was taking an enormous effort on his part not to scream in agony as he felt the biting edge of Asher's superhuman strength on the bones in his hand. _As long as he could keep him away from Ziva_…

The Canadian abruptly twisted around in a 360° turn, twisting Tony's arm in such a way that it would be impossible to try to break away without tearing it from its socket. Ballack delivered another fast right hook to his face, and Tony felt his jaw rattle around in his skull as he was spun in the opposite direction.

Ziva, seeing the dangerously vulnerable position her partner was now in with his back to Asher, immediately leapt forward towards her weapon. Executing a perfect spinning lunge on the floor, she rolled through to one knee and fired towards Asher; the rogue agent delivered a hard palm to Tony's back, sending flying forward but at least getting him out of harm's way for the moment. She continued shooting, only for Asher to zip to the right in the blink of an eye and then leap in the air, executing about a 720° corkscrew twist in mid-air just out of the bullets' trajectory path. Landing agilely on one hand on the ground, he slowly looked up towards her and gave a short chuckle. "And I'm not even breathing hard."

Ziva refused to lose her focus; if she had her way the bastard wouldn't be breathing _at all_ when this was all said and done. But she had to admit he was right; all the combat and evasive moves he had performed since the battle had begun had not even caused him to break a sweat, while she was starting to feel the effects of it in her muscles and lungs. But she would not let that stop her from doing what she needed to do.

In response, she aimed at him and pulled the trigger. Asher promptly executed a large back-flip, launching him upwards into the shadows of the warehouse's upper areas, disappearing from view.

Keeping her weapon at the ready, Ziva saw Tony stumble over to his pistol lying some distance away. Retrieving it, he hurried over to his Israeli partner and immediately took up a defensive position. Ziva heard the loud panting coming from his mouth and snuck a glance at him. Feeling her hawk eyes burning into his face, he glanced over to her. "What?" His voice sounded half-exhausted, half-his usual light-hearted nature. "Battling someone who packs a punch worse than Ivan Drago wasn't exactly covered in 'basic' back at the academy!"

"Tony, if I die here because of your lack of stamina…" She narrowed her eyes dangerously at him, sending a cold shiver running down his spine.

There was a low chuckle from somewhere above them in the darkness, followed by the gravelly voice of their enemy echoing throughout the area. "Don't die on me _yet_, Ziva."

"Oh, great." Tony grumbled, keeping his weapon up towards the darkened higher parts of the warehouse. "I feel more crazy talk coming on."

"The only thing crazy is about this world is how much it allows certain actors to get away with doing. Why do they feel the need to subject the rest of the globe to their will while they are permitted to carry on without so much as an objection to their actions? These rogue actors require judgement!"

"Let me guess." Ziva spoke calmly even as her eyes darted back and forth, looking for any sign of movement. "You plan on being the almighty, all-knowing royal executioner of those who do not fit your twisted view of the world and how it should be run."

There was another chuckle. "Let me explain something to you Ziva; I don't think of myself as a king. Kings exist only in order to subject their subjects to their will; a living, breathing human-being that arouses fear and obedience in them under the threat of death- simply because they think they have a God-given right to be indestructible. No- people need to be saved by one who is superior to them, and the easiest way to do that is to replace those who allegedly give monarchs their divine right to rule. In the eyes of the tiny masses, I may as well be a god- capable of rearranging the established order of the world into what it should rightfully be!"

"A _god_??" Tony's voice was rich with incredulousness. "Okay, it's official; he's completely lost it!"

"Whatever you're talking about, he never had it to begin with!" Ziva responded. "I think it's time to remove his level of smugness!"

"Hey Ballack!" Tony shouted into the air. "Since you like bad one-liners so much, I got one for you; Keenau Reeves called- he wants his _Matrix_ costume back!" _Ooh man that sounded bad! I mean seriously, you'd think I could come up with a better one then that! I think even Palmer could come up with better one-liners! Damn it boss, where the hell are you?_

There was a sudden fluttering noise directly above them. As the two NCIS agents looked up, the speed with which they raised their weapons was not quick enough. Sailing down right in between them, Asher grabbed hold of Ziva's pistol with both hands, pointed it directly towards the ceiling, and then rammed his combat boots straight into her stomach; the resulting impact sent her flying back about ten feet. Without setting his feet on the ground, Asher flung himself back into a backwards somersault; one of his boots caught Tony right under the chin, and the senior field agent felt himself flying back several feet as if in slow motion before landing painfully on the ground.

Getting back up, Ziva saw Ballack land on his feet, facing her direction. She raised her pistol towards him and pulled the trigger, but the hammer merely clicked harmlessly. Letting out a cry of frustration as she brought it up to her face, she noticed that her rogue ex-partner hadn't moved at all; it was as if he knew her magazine was empty and saw no need to expend his seemingly inexhaustible energy trying to dodge her. Unconsciously, she holstered her weapon and quickly extracted one of her knives from her belt. Recalling the last time she tried to use her knives to take out Asher, she reminded herself that she had to be quicker and more agile this time.

And then the situation presented itself; Asher's attention was momentarily distracted when Tony fool heartedly came up behind him and threw another direct right punch. Asher almost lazily turned slightly towards him, caught his wrist with his left hand, and then delivered a sharp right hook to his face, knocking Tony back again. Quickly, she sprung forward; wielding the blade so as the handle pointed towards her thumb she swung it directly towards his face…

There was a flurry of activity as Asher whirled around to face her again. His right hand sailed up and knocked her weapon hand away from him straight up into the air; catching and temporarily grasping this arm with his left hand, he immediately rammed his right palm into her upper chest. Ziva felt her feet leave the ground, and she sailed backwards through the air at a nearly unimaginable speed. There was a heavy crash as she slammed back-first into a glass container, and as she fell painfully to the floor about a thousand pieces of glass came crinkling down onto her. Her knife went flying out of her hand and spinning away to the other side of the room.

Tony, seeing his partner thrown across the room like a ragdoll, immediately ignored the fact that his jaw felt like it was on fire and raced to his feet, but he forgot in his temporary haze that swinging punches at supercharged ex-special forces agent wasn't exactly the best course of action. By the time he realized that his latest attempt at a right hook was doomed to fail, Asher had already caught him the wrist with his left hand. In a flash, he started to spin around, temporarily disappearing only to reappear behind him and deliver a vicious right elbow to his back. As Tony stumbled forward, Ballack reappeared in front and gave a spinning left elbow to his ribs. Doubling over, Tony caught a glimpse of Asher jumping in mid-air; the ex-cop tilted his head upwards, and as he did Asher leaped up right above him, put his left foot on his right shoulder and, seeming to temporarily go into slow motion swung his right foot up towards his face. The top of his boot caught Tony right below the chin, and as he flew backwards through the air the ex-cop saw Asher execute a perfect backward somersault and land on his feet. Tony crash-landed heavily on the metal floor, the force of the blow sending him skidding across it for at least ten or fifteen metres before coming to a halt. He lay on the ground in pain, trying to get a second wind that just was not coming to him.

Ziva painfully got up onto one knee, gasping audibly for air in short shocked gasps. Nearly all the wind had been driven out of her by the two successive blows; she felt as if the mere act of breathing was a struggle in and of itself and it was struggle she was just barely holding on to. Raising her head to try to locate both her partner and her ex-partner, she suddenly froze as the scene in front of her developed.

Asher strode unhesitatingly towards Tony's prostrate figure, his fist clenching and unclenching as his footsteps echoed throughout the area. In a matter of seconds he had reached the senior field agent; effortlessly, he seized Tony with his left hand by the throat and lifted him up off the ground high into the air. Tony gritted his teeth and made a gasp for air as his feet dangled helplessly at least a foot off the ground. Asher gave a look that ranged somewhere between self-satisfaction and cool rationality. As he stared at his own struggling reflection in the Canadian's sunglasses, Asher raised his right fist and slowly closed it, a small cracking sound that was just barely audible reaching his ears.

Ziva, watching all this, was suddenly bombarded with mental images; images of Gibbs back at the house of Barry Goldstein, as he held up the candlestick; the metal candlestick which had the finger-like indentations on its side.

And then Gibbs' words came back to her; not the ones at the house- those at NCIS. The ones he had spoken when he was reading the file of her late British Hellstorm companion William Raynes…

"…_died from massive trauma due to some sort of thin object that was rammed right through his torso and out of his back_…"

Ziva stared in horror at Asher as he clenched his fist, holding a defenceless Tony high above his head. Putting the pieces together in her head, she now knew what had caused the death of the wise-cracking Manchester native; the same thing that the ex-JTF2 operative was now planning to do to Tony…

"_No!_"

She was up and running towards the two men before her brain had even become aware of what she was doing. Asher, who was largely focused on the struggling ex-cop he held within his grasp, did not notice this; instead he said in a cool and focused tone directed at him, "_End of the line for you_…"

Ziva leapt up off the ground, her foot flying out in front of her. The kick hit Asher right in the chest, sending the rogue agent flying backwards. His grip on Tony released and the senior field agent dropped to the floor gasping for breath.

There was a loud slicing sound that echoed throughout the room; temporarily tearing her anxious eyes away from her partner, Ziva turned towards the location of the sound. She stopped for a brief moment and Tony, trying to get up while still rubbing his throat, caught her expression and looked in the direction of the Mossad officer's eyes.

Asher was suspended in mid-air, his feet about three or four inches off the ground. Tony's first initial thought was that the Canadian had somehow managed to add levitation to his ever-growing bag of tricks, but that thought was immediately dismissed when his eyes focused on their opponent's abdomen; a medium-sized metal pipe was protruding from just under Ballack's ribcage from the wall. The sight was so surreal that Tony was momentarily distracted.

So was Asher. Staring down at the pipe that had been rammed through his back and was now securing him to the wall, he gave a large sigh and shook his head, as though the fact that a pipe was protruding from his chest was far more of an inconvenience than a source of worry. Gripping the edge of the pipe in both hands, he started moving his body back and forth in an attempt to free himself.

As she observed the scene in front of her, Ziva's attention slipped to the ground; a large rectangular box on the ground near her foot had caught her eye. Kneeling down, she quickly opened up the lid and upon observing the contents her eyes widened significantly. An idea came to her…

"Tony!" She called. "Help me with this! Tony!"

The senior field agent, still mesmerized by the surreal picture in front of him, turned his attention towards his partner, startled by her loud and edgy tone. He eyes widened as he watched the Israeli pull out the weapon from the box beside her; a brand-new looking RPG.

"Ziva, what do you think you're doing?" Tony's voice matched his incredulous expression.

"Quick, get me a rocket for the RPG!" Ziva spoke as though she hadn't even heard her partner's words. "This is the only option we have left! The rocket is in the crate; get it and load it into the launcher!"

"You try that at this range, you'll take us with it! What's to say it won't blow up this entire building? What if Gibbs…"

"Gibbs would do what was necessary to stop a threat when there is no other option available! Would you rather allow Ballack to escape and do who-knows-what to the entire city? Do it, now!"

The hard tone of the Mossad assassin snapped Tony out of his hesitation, and before he knew it he found himself bending down to the crate to retrieve the rocket-propelled grenade. Sneaking a glance back at their enemy he noticed that Asher, apparently fed up with the slowness of trying to work his way off of the pole, had now grasped the part of the pole that was protruding from his back with his left hand and was pushing down on it while simultaneously pulling the part of the pole that was sticking out of his chest. The metal creaked and strained, and Tony now had a good idea that it wasn't going to last much longer against Ballack's strength.

"Tony!" The ex-cop turned his attention back to RPG. Ziva held it up so that the barrel was facing the ceiling. Tony hurriedly placed the rocket inside it and was on the verge of explaining to Ziva that he didn't have the faintest clue as to whether it was correctly positioned or not when the Israeli expertly clicked it into place, leaving him with his mouth temporarily open.

A sharp _crack_ had him turning abruptly towards the wall; Asher had managed to snap the pipe in the place just before it entered his back and had now fallen back to the ground. Standing up, the Canadian turned his attention to the piece of broken pipe that still lodged in his body and grabbed the end protruding from his chest with both hands in an apparent effort to pull it from his body.

"Ziva, come on!" Tony urged his partner with a concerned tone that he was slightly surprised to hear coming out of his own mouth. "Launch this thing already!"

Ziva dropped to one knee and expertly aimed the RPG right at Asher's face; getting used to the weight of the weapon she observed her rogue former partner rip the pipe out through his torso and blindly toss it to his right across the room. A hardened expression crossed her face.

"Your acts of violence are finished, you bastard."

With that, she pulled the trigger; the rocket shot out of the barrel and zoomed directly towards its target. Asher looked up towards the incoming projectile, a cold expression on his own face, and threw up his hands just as the RPG reached him…

Tony froze directly in place; his eyes opened to the size of dinner plates and his mouth dropped to the ground. Ziva's expression immediately changed from hardness to shock, and her grip on the RPG significantly increased…

Asher stood rooted in place, his arms held out directly in front of him. In his hands he tightly held on to the rocket- still very active and still moving forward as though it had just been shot from the launcher, the smoke and flame still spurting from the back. His face contorted in strain- teeth bared and all- he let out multiple forceful grunts as he struggled to keep the projectile away from hitting its target. His arms moved back and forth as the force of the RPG taxed his strength to the limit.

"What…? How…?" Tony fumbled for words; his jaw was still hanging open to the point where it was a miracle he could speak at all. "This…this isn't possible!"

Ziva, recovering from her temporal shock and awe at the rogue agent's action, spat out, "My pistol."

"What?"

"Tony, my pistol! Shoot the rocket! Use my pistol to shoot it!"

"Are you insane?! It'll blow up in our faces too! You can't be…"

"Shut and just do it!" Ziva's eyes widened in- he'd have to call it _fear_. What he didn't know, or what he couldn't see as she did, was that if Tony didn't do as she said then Asher would almost certainly throw the rocket towards the two of them. If that happened, they most certainly _would_ be killed. Why didn't the man just _think_ sometimes?

Unwilling to argue further, Tony immediately grabbed the gun from Ziva's holster and raised it towards Ballack. He tried to get a clear lock on the rocket, but it was jerking around so much he couldn't get an accurate aim on it.

"Tony, _shoot it_!" Ziva literally screamed right in his ear; Asher forcibly raised the rocket above his head- the look of focus on his face, even with his eyes hidden, gave no mystery about his intentions. He reared back in preparation to throw the projectile back towards the NCIS agents.

That was the clear mark Tony had been looking for…

Inhaling deeply, he clenched his jaw, adjusted his aim, and feeling as though it was happening in slow motion pulled the trigger…

The explosion rocked the entire warehouse; Tony involuntarily threw up his hands and jerked his head away from the blast. He could feel the intense heat touch his skin, scorch his face. The smell of burning metal swept over him and pellets of hot steel smacked him right in the side of the head. Turning frantically towards where his partner was standing, he breathed a huge internal sigh of relief when he saw Ziva- crouched down but very much alive- still in one piece.

Waving his hand in an attempt to clear the smoke in front of him, Tony held Ziva's weapon out in front of him with the other. Narrowing his eyes, he suddenly realized the space that had been occupied just a short time ago by the supercharged ex-soldier was now empty; there was not a sign of Ballack anywhere.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know." Ziva's tone did not express fear any longer but there was definitely a sense of concern- of uncertainty.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "I think maybe you blew him all the way back to Calgary, Zee-vah. There's not a single piece of him left!" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I suppose now we don't have to worry about being ambushed by a superhuman cowboy again."

"Wrong thought DiNozzo."

Tony and Ziva both spun around, the senior agent raising his weapon up forwards, only to be hit like a freight train moving at a whirlwind speed. In a second, Tony and Ziva both found themselves lifted high up into the air and slammed against the wall; Tony's weapon went flying across the room and skid across the floor while Ziva dropped the RPG to the ground right next to her.

Asher stared up at them, and as Tony grabbed hold of the Canadian's forearm he observed that there was absolutely no visible damage done to him. No scars, no bloody wounds, nothing. Even his clothes were completely undamaged, right down to his sunglasses still very much intact on his face. _What the hell is this- some kind of video game where the boss' clothes don't get damaged even after bloody gunfights?_

Asher turned towards Ziva, whom he was holding with right hand up and against the wall. "As much as this little reunion has been entertaining Ziva," he said indifferently, "I don't have anymore time to play with you. It's time to end this once and for all. Too bad; it _has_ been fun…"

Gritting her teeth, Ziva offered him no satisfaction of seeing her squirm. She did not fear death; she'd been trained to never fear anything. Her only regret was that she had dragged Tony into this, and now he was going to pay for her sins…

Asher suddenly straightened up his head; his ear turned upwards and listened. There was no mistaking it; he had heard it- a rifle being cocked…

In the blink of an eye he dropped both NCIS agents and whirled around. Without missing a beat, he cocked his head to the side just as a gunshot echoed throughout the room. The bullet sailed past his head and clanged off the metal wall behind him.

Ziva acted without thinking; in a lightning flash she had leapt towards Asher and jammed her fingers into the vital areas of his neck. It was similar to the hold she had put on him back in Somalia years ago, only this time she put full pressure into it. It worked like a charm; Asher, caught completely unaware, automatically tensed up and froze as his nerves temporarily went on fire. Unable to move, he could not defend himself as Tony grabbed the RPG up off the floor and slammed it into the area between his neck and his skull. Even with his advanced abilities, the highly sensitive area was still vulnerable, and his healing abilities could not stop his body's natural reaction from such a precise blow. The rogue operative fell forward and crashed to the ground, motionless.

Breathing heavily, Tony turned to his partner, who looked equally winded. "You okay?" He asked concerned.

She gave a quick nod. "Yes," she replied breathlessly.

"And still able to pack a powerful punch, I see." A new voice called up from above them. "Not that I would demand anything less from my team."

Ziva and Tony looked upwards towards the catwalk. Standing against the guardrail, holding a sniper rifle in hand, Gibbs. The team leader's face was one of subtle concern, pride and slight reproach.

"Gibbs!" Ziva called up. "Thank God!"

"Great timing as ever boss," Tony said a little less enthusiastically. "Not that I'm criticizing you or any, but _where the hell have you been_?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "If you must know DiNozzo, the power circuits throughout the building caused a lockdown on the ground floor. If I could have gotten here sooner, I would have. Of course, it always helps to have a little back-up."

Ziva and Tony looked towards the back of the room; the main gate leading to the dock outside opened up and team of heavily armed NCIS agents swarmed the area. After clearing the entire floor, every single one of them ended up covering the unconscious body of Ballack, as though they were looking for an excuse to put a round or ten in his head.

"It's alright." Tony waved a hand. "We got in under control; the DiNozzonator and Miss Mossad saved the day again. I just want to wrap this case up so I can go home and get some shut-eye."

Ziva bit her lip to suppress a small smirk. _When this case is done,_ she mused. She had a good idea on how to speed things up in that area- 'interrogating' her bastard of an ex-partner…

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! Don't worry- this isn't the end of the story; not by a LONG shot! **


	19. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Tony leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked onto the face on the man sitting across the table from him. The Interrogation Room was never a particularly warm and comforting place but the presence of such a cold and indifferent individual in it made this a particularly unpleasant setting.

Asher Ballack leaned back in his own chair, regarding the senior field agent with faint interest. His trench coat, gloves and sunglasses had been confiscated, revealing that the zipped-up 'vest' that the owner of the Dublin's Mist had spoken of was in reality a short-sleeved leather combat shirt, with the sleeves coming down to just below his elbows. A pair of specially-designed heavy-duty metal cuffs locked his hands, which he rested on the table, together. Taking in the sight, Tony realized just how much the trench coat had concealed Ballack's true physique. While not skin-tight, his shirt was close enough to his body to reveal the definition in his torso; not that of a body-builder but certainly, and admittedly, more defined than his own. The Canadian's powerful forearms reminded Tony of how easily he had lifted him up into the air, and despite the fact that the ex-JTF2 agent was restrained there was little doubt as to the strength he possessed.

He pushed that feeling of uncertainty and doubt away and instead focused on the man himself. "It doesn't feel too good to be restricted, does it Ballack?" Tony spoke with his usual wit, with a slightly biting edge thrown in. "No way of zipping back and forth in here; you must be going out of your mind at the sheer frustration of not being able to hop around like a jackrabbit hyped up on caffeine."

Asher merely gave another look of cool indifference. "If I were you I'd be more frustrated at the failure of your police training from back in the day." He raised his eyebrows slightly. "All those hours spent training in hand-to-hand combat and firearms practice- all the hours you spend in the gym working out in order to meet women who are fitness nuts themselves- just to go straight out the window in a single round with one individual." He shook his head. "You disappoint me DiNozzo; I expected more of a challenge from someone from your background."

"Actually I was pretty disappointed myself." Tony replied just as coolly. "For someone who allegedly has the ability to crush metal with his bare hands your punches lacked the force I expected. That Hellstorm serum of yours not functioning as well as you hoped it would?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Life can sure be a disappointment sometimes, can't it?"

Asher smirked. "Only if you fail to accomplish what you want to accomplish. What could I have accomplished by cracking your skull in outright? Prove that I was superior to you in every sense of the word? No, no, no, no." He shook his head and paused for a second, appearing to stare off into space before snapping back to reality. "No. No, you mistake my objectives for weaknesses. Trust me; if I wanted to _kill_ you DiNozzo- truly kill you and your hot-headed Mossad partner right off the bat- you'd have been dead the first time I hit you. Although," he noted, "it seems both you and Ziva are slightly worse for the wear for it."

Tony's mouth formed a thin line. He couldn't deny that the Canadian was at least partly right; his ribs and jaw still felt as though they were about to crack every time he them moved a certain way, even after the medical exam by Ducky had shown that he had sustained no serious injuries. Tony didn't want to have any kind of medical exam at first, but relented after Gibbs threatened to send him to the hospital if he didn't report to Ducky immediately upon return to NCIS. As much as he hated medical check-ups, he hated hospitals even more and at least he was confident Ducky wouldn't cause him too much anxiety. Ziva, of course, had refused all medical treatment, even though Ducky had expressed the opinion that she may have sustained some cracked ribs. Tony had suspected that she had no intention of returning to the hospital, even under threat of death from Gibbs. His suspicions had been confirmed when he caught her limping slightly out of the autopsy room after Ducky's examination, where upon seeing him she had pinned him to the wall and warned him- quietly and dangerously- that if he told anyone about what he saw she would kill him with two of her fingers. After seeing the paralyzing move she had put on Ballack in the warehouse, he was generally inclined to believe her.

"Whereas you are completely unscathed? Is that what I'm supposed to say?" Tony's voice was noticeably harder.

Asher shrugged. "I'm still alive and breathing, aren't I? Which I'm sure Ziva is very disappointed at, despite her very- _creative_ methods of trying to take me out." He cocked his head. "But, then again, Mossad agents never were known for their subtlety, were they?"

"Not to point out the obvious," Tony replied, "but despite your- _superiority_, you're here in NCIS custody. If I were you, I wouldn't be making any long range plans; killing federal officers kind of falls under the banner of federal jurisdiction. And we don't take kindly to people who snap the necks and crack the skulls of fellow agents, even if surviving being impaled on a pipe and having a rocket blow up in your face without so much as a hint of pain _is_ just a little bit impressive."

"Pain," Asher spoke distantly, his eyes looking upward towards the ceiling. "A very interesting feeling. And for me," he looked at Tony, "a very distant one." He leaned forward. "You know the curious thing about being a Special Forces operative, DiNozzo? All the…" he gestured with his hand, "little _emotions_ that we feel naturally," he shook his head, "they don't mean anything anymore. The concepts of mercy, of righteousness, of humanity- they become absolutely pointless. And they should- if you need to do a job, regardless of what it entails, if it's in the best interests of humanity as whole," he nodded, "you'll do it. Because, it's for the _greater good_…" He leaned back in his chair. "Sometimes, however, that's just not good enough. In order to do what is right for the entire world, one has to stop feeling as one of the billions of the tiny masses. Because as soon as you identify with them," he shook his head, "then the whole effort becomes completely pointless. To act in their best interests, you can no longer think like they do. The second you do," he raised his eyebrows, "you lose sight of what's necessary. Humanity is naturally selfish- they look out for their own interests regardless of what it costs the rest of mankind or even themselves in the long-run. Someone has to see past all that- to put all that selfishness and hypocrisy aside- and do what needs to be done regardless of what it may cost. And in order for that to happen, one can no longer feel as they have done previously. They need something to stop them from identifying with the corrupt and the inferior. They need something that is completely fair in its judgment of humanity- something like Hellstorm."

He let out a heavy sigh, as though relieving the experiences of many battles in the past. "You see DiNozzo," he looked up at Tony, "I no longer seem to feel anything anymore. There is no hint of recognizing any single emotion within me. The human concepts of 'feeling' no longer have any meaning for me. Joy, regret," he paused, "…love. All that has no place in me any more. Neither does the concept of pain. Oh," he cocked his head, "I can feel the sensations- the sensations of what a normal person would call pain- but I don't feel it the same way. I don't find it harmful, or destructive, or even joyful. It just- has no meaning for me. It's more of an annoyance than anything else; a mere pebble on the paved road towards my destiny- the salvation of humanity. By any means necessary."

Tony was largely silent for a moment, his eyes still staring into Ballack's. Then he slowly got up from his chair.

"If we're going to run around in circles in terms of talking freely," he said slowly, "I'm looking forward to hearing you speak when you answer some questions about how you justify mass murder for the good of the world."

He turned and started walking towards the door, when Asher's cool and indifferent voice spoke up again. "Oh, I see- the famous good-cop, bad-cop routine."

Tony turned and looked him square in the eye. "You have no idea." He pulled open the door and walked out.

Closing the door behind him, Tony gave a sigh of frustration and then looked up into the eyes of the person standing behind the glass wall staring into the Interrogation Room. "Well?"

Gibbs turned to look at him. "Hard nut to crack, isn't he?"

"I'm sure I could get something out of him given the time, but right now I'm not sure of that we have. Even the old DiNozzo charm may not be enough to get us where we need to be."

"You think DiNozzo?" Gibbs' tone was predictably sarcastic. "This is rogue Canadian JTF2 agent we're talking about, not some young female mistress of a wealthy politician. This requires more decisive action than mere diplomatic means."

"Meaning that you want to take over the interrogation?" Tony's question was answered with a sharp slap to the back the head. "Right boss. Of course- stupid question. Um, just before you begin ripping Mr. Maple Leaf here a new one, would it be safe to ask where Ziva is?"

"She headed upstairs DiNozzo. Said she wanted to… _prepare_ for something. And no," he cut off Tony just as the field agent began to open his mouth, "I didn't ask what that meant, so for the time being, don't preoccupy yourself with it. Understood?"

"Clearly boss."

Gibbs straightened up and walked right past Tony towards the door. As he approached it, the senior field agent knew exactly what was going to happen; Gibbs' interrogation method, which he personally had dubbed 'Rock the Cradle', was about to go into affect. He was going to enjoy seeing how that cool and indifferent attitude of Ballack's worked against the stone cold harshness of a Gibbs interrogation.

As for Gibbs himself, as he walked towards the door to the Interrogation Room, he was going to enjoy every moment of making Ballack writhe, just as he had made the ex-marine sniper writhe internally over his injured teammates.

The team leader promptly burst through the door like a hurricane, ready to start firing off questions and catch the rogue agent off guard. However, he had barely set one foot through the door when the low, gravelly voice of the Canadian permeated throughout the room.

"_Evening, Agent Gibbs_…"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! I know this is short, but I felt this is the best place for a chapter break- plus it gets the suspense up!**

**Just FYI, I made a little mistake in the previous chapter. When Ziva tries to fire at Asher for the last time before switching to her knife, the gun appears to be empty, yet when Tony grabs it to shoot the rocket, there's at least one bullet left in the mag. Let me explain it by saying the gun temporarily jammed on Ziva and there was one round left in the mag. Sorry about that!**

**Also- what do you think about the character of Asher? What do you think of him as a bad guy? There's more in the following chapters to learn about him- A LOT more- but right now what are the opinions about him?**


	20. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Gibbs momentarily stopped in the doorway. Caught off guard by Ballack's abrupt mention of his name, he paused and looked towards the detainee sitting at the table. His strategy which had worked so effectively in the past largely rendered ineffective, he watched as a look ranging between satisfaction and coolness spread over the Canadian's face.

"Your voice is very definite." Asher answered Gibbs' unasked question of how the rogue JTF2 operative had known who it was before seeing the team leader. "Even from behind a solid wall, it is distinguishable. Well, at least to me. But then again, not every person has augmented senses to detect such things, do they?"

"Not every person slaughters innocent people just because they can either." Gibbs strode to the empty side of the table and sat down, his eyes bearing into Asher's own. "But I suppose you never were one for following rules of war. Besides, that's beside the point. You're a federal agent killer; you're lucky to be sensing _anything_ right now. If I were you, I'd stop with the dry remarks and start giving me some definitive answers."

"Such as?"

"When NCIS swept the warehouse at the shipyard, it was bare. There was no sign of any traces of Hellstorm or anything else that could be modified to create a weapon of mass destruction. We didn't recover anything from your little hideaway."

Asher replied gravelly, "Of course not."

"Where is it?" Gibbs asked pointedly. "We know the warehouse was being used a storage area for a large amount of material; it didn't just disappear on its own. Where have you moved it to?"

"Me?" Asher's voice was one of mock innocence. "I didn't move anything. How could I? I'm just a single individual." He narrowed his eyes. "Where did _you_ let it get to? Hmm? Isn't that your job? To find out where these materials are getting to in this city and stop them from getting into the wrong hands? Or are you starting to feel the strain of the power you hold and command? Are you starting to feel the isolation closing in- that sense of authority you've held for so long slip away?"

"This isn't about me Ballack." Gibbs cut in. "This is about you and Natalya Russikov's planned acts of violence against innocent people. You may not be able to move all that weapons-grade material by yourself, but someone like her would have the resources for it. Where is she?"

"You know, I have to say I'm impressed." Asher responded as though Gibbs hadn't spoken at all. "Not many people would be willing to take a shot such as you did back in the warehouse, with your two top agents' lives in the balance. You puzzle me Gibbs. You carry around all this stress on top of you like a brick wall from all the pain of you past life and yet you try to act as though it doesn't affect you. That's the strange part; where's that rage hiding itself inside of you? You don't have to let it burn you from the inside out you know- you could have much more glorious, easier life."

"How?" Gibbs asked testily. "By being like you? You really must be as delusional as Ziva said you were. Not to mention the fact that you're a sociopath who sold out his country and his moral responsibility for your own twisted ideals."

Asher raised a finger. "See that's your problem. You let Ziva influence you as to what she _thinks_ she sees in me. But she's completely wrong. At the heart of it, she and I are exactly the same; we want the same thing."

"Oh?" Gibbs didn't even bother to hide the unbelieving intonations in his voice.

"Oh yeah." Asher gave a small smile. "Order, stability, peace. A world without fear of violence, without war, without having to worry about the guy sitting next to you on the bus blowing himself up and taking you with it." He grinned slightly. "Think about how happy that would make Ziva's beloved countrymen and women. Well," he paused, "those that remain afterwards. See," he cut Gibbs off when the ex-sniper began to speak, "contrary to what you might think, I'm not a mindless sociopath who slaughters any old person who gets in my way. I'm basically doing the same job that you did in the Marines, that Ziva did in Mossad, and that I did back in JTF2; tracking down and taking out individuals who pose a threat to international peace. I just…" he looked to the right as if searching for the right words, "…use a more _draconian_ way of doing it. A more _necessary_ way."

"And I'm sure killing innocent civilians falls under the category of 'necessary' in your world."

"Those 'innocent civilians', as you refer to them, are just making the problem larger by the day, Agent Gibbs. Only a handful of people in this world truly matter. You should know that better than anybody."

"And how do you figure that?"

"You see, the position you've always been in- trying to balance killing with feeling," he shook his head, "it doesn't work. Being a hard-as-nails marine sniper or a team leader that investigates the powerful U.S. Navy requires sacrifice of one's person; otherwise you become an ineffective liability." He gestured with his hands, accentuating his points. "You _have_ feelings, you _became_ less effective, and, uh…" he shrugged and cocked his head, "look where _that_ landed you. Losing your own family to a drug lord, your Secret Service agent to a turncoat and your director to an assassin." He raised his eyebrows, "Did any of those people truly _matter_ to the world?"

Gibbs grabbed hold of Ballack by the collar and pulled him towards his face. His head pounding from the pressure that was boiling inside of him, he said, "They mattered to _me_!"

Asher merely stared at him with bemused indifference. Gibbs was just considering whether he should show the Canadian just _how_ hard his stint as a marine had made him when Asher said flatly, "As much as I admire your passion and loyalty Agent Gibbs, I think you'll find your rough tactics just spend your energy and cause you to lose your focus. Pain and intimidation?" He shook his head. "They don't mean a goddamn thing to me; I lost my ability to feel threatened a long time ago. That's the result of being Hellstorm's perfect subject. That's the consequence of doing what is necessary."

Gibbs glared at Asher for a second further before roughly releasing him. Settling back in his chair, the team leader stared pointedly at the detainee. "What do you mean- 'lost your ability'?"

"Hellstorm can't be administered to just anyone." Ballack replied tersely. "In order for it to be effective, you have to be able to withstand just about anything. The reason?" He paused for a moment. "Effectively, the procedure _kills_ you. Destroys what humanity you have in you, until all that's left is a cold indifference to anything that may have aroused emotion in you prior to administration. Once that happens, you may as well no longer be a human being. But you do have the means to choose what you want to be. CSIS wanted me to be their tool- their indestructible killer that they could command to do things they didn't have the guts to do themselves." He nodded his head slowly. "I saw what they really were; corrupt, paranoid, and internally weak. That's all they were. That's all any powerful organization is. You strip away the layers of hypocrisy and what you discover is that virtually the entire world thrives on corruption and exploitation. That is why I do what is necessary, regardless of the cost."

"And you think that because you had virtually no humanity to begin with," Gibbs said through his teeth, "that gives you the right to determine who deserves to live and who doesn't?"

"The world requires someone _capable_ of making these decisions Gibbs." Asher's response was just as cold. He leaned forward in his chair and stared the team leader in the eye. "And I'll explain to you why. Selection of the strongest and fastest is a natural cycle on this earth. I am capable of making that judgment for humanity, and I _will_. You want to know why? Because I was selected for it." His tone was dead serious as he said his next words.

"_Hellstorm_ selected me…"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! Interesting flashback scene coming up in next chapter- may upload sooner if I get enough reviews so hit the green button!**


	21. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_**London, England, UK- June 23, 2006**_

_The rain pounded on the window outside the apartment building, smashing against the glass like pellets of hail. A massive gust of wind rattled the rickety frames in their places; a massive bolt of lightning crackled the dark night sky, followed by a large clap of thunder. _

_From the inside of the room, Asher walked slowly towards the window. His black leather outfit fit in well with the dark interior of the apartment; not a single light was lit in the entire unit. Perhaps it was better this way; he was not a person who desired to attract more attention to himself than necessary- until he was ready._

_And still the other occupant of the apartment continued rattling on, his voice becoming more and more agitated and bitter as the rambling progressed._

"_The Hellstorm team was never supposed to be about protecting the free world from existential threats. It was a one giant test tube; a blender to see which of the lucky cadets got to be the one to experience hell on earth and whether they could survive it. Hellstorm could create a new, super breed of humans, free to act as they see fit in order to keep their beloved state's secrets far from the public eyes. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they could collapse from the inside out and it wouldn't matter; all that would be important was that they could continue without restrictions and without fear of reprisals."_

_Asher stopped in front of the window. Without looking back, he asked in a rather uninterested tone, "How could you possibly know about all this? The whole purpose of Hellstorm was to ensure that the least amount of people possible would even be aware of its existence. The last time I checked, you were not a viable candidate for it."_

_He heard a low chuckle come from the chair near the centre of the room behind him. "That's what everybody thought. And yet you'd be surprised what you'll learn when you meet the bugger responsible for the whole bloody mess drowning his sorrows in a pub, killing himself over what he's done to the world by his work. Old Goldstein wasn't nearly as tight-lipped as he was back when Hellstorm was a unit, which was pretty ballsy of him considering how the CIA is watching him like a suspected terrorist. _

"_The Hellstorm team was formed with only the most superior soldiers in the democratic world, comprising five individuals who had endless abilities and potential. Why do you think that was so? Do you really honesty believe that we were the only ones who were observed to see if Hellstorm could be applied to us? Not a chance in hell. The CIA had been experimenting with people for months before we were even knew about the existence of this clandestine group we were to become a part of. Candidates were subjected to the drug even in its early stages to test whether they were suitable enough to survive the procedure; of all of them, only one survived." There was a momentary pause, and then with an intake of breath the haggard British tone spoke out again. "_You…_"_

_Asher slowly turned his head halfway around in the direction of the voice behind him. Though his tone remained largely emotionless, there was a hint of interest in it when he responded. "Are you saying I was…selected?"_

_There was a noise from the chair which sounded somewhat like a cross between a chuckle and a wheeze. "Selected? Who gets to select who becomes an immortal? A _god_ among humans? Who gets to choose who is and who is not worthy to take up the mantle of being a super being?" The man coughed. "A being capable of making choices as they see fit? Oh yes, Hellstorm selected you alright; though considering how mentally unstable you were prior to the process it is damn lucky for you that David quit the team after your little encounter in Africa."_

_Asher said slowly, "Ziva?"_

"_Yeah. Mossad's little girl was apparently Goldstein's first choice as a test subject. He said she was far more stable than you were; the risk of her going rogue was much less. But since you scared her away with your remorseless attitude, Goldstein had no choice but to test it out on the only other team member deemed strong enough; an outright sociopath."_

_Asher murmured, far more to himself than to his companion, "Ziva could have been selected…"_

"_It's all utter rubbish!" The man said with a new hoarse attempt at energy. "_I_ could have been that immortal! I _should_ have been the god you are now, able to create a new advanced generation of people capable of taking care of this world!" He breathed in heavily. "However, that is no longer a possibility- thanks to you…"_

_Asher slowly and tightly clenched his right fist. Looking out of the window, he watched a streak of lightning flash across the sky. The illumination temporarily penetrated through his sunglasses; anyone who was watching would have caught the bright orange tint flash across his irises…_

"_Nevertheless, despite what might or might not have been, your own survival holds tremendous meaning. You are still a ruthless, sociopathic bastard, but you can truly say now you are superior to most of the rest of the global population. The world is virtually yours to do with as you please."_

_There was another fit of coughing and choking. Asher turned towards the direction of the chair and observed its occupant stumble out of it; William Raynes, a scraggly broken shell of his former self, struggled to bring himself to full height, still facing away from Ballack. The Canadian slowly started to walk towards his former Hellstorm teammate._

"_And now look at me." Raynes spat out in a strained voice. "A weak outer cast of what I used to be. Very ironic, don't you think, for one who could have been selected to become a real-life god?" The Briton slowly turned to face Asher, who was now stopped right in front of him. His bloodshot eyes stared wildly like that of a wild animal. "To be trapped in a cage of virtual, hell-on-earth mortality, facing what he begrudgingly call, his _deity_…"_

_Asher's largely expressionless face tilted ever so slightly to the side. Though his eyes were still hidden from sight, his seemingly indifferent tone appeared to reflect a much more thoughtful mindset. He said slowly, "Selected to become a god…"_

_There was a split-second pause. Then, with a sudden and abrupt movement, he struck. Asher's right fist slammed into Raynes' chest and immediately penetrated throughout his torso. His heart exploded upon impact along with one of his lungs. Half a second after entering Raynes' chest, his fist rammed itself out of the Briton's back, the attack being so sudden and unexpected that for a second or two Raynes had no possible reaction. As the Englishman fell forwards towards Asher, the Canadian caught him with his other hand, leaned in closely to his ear and murmured; "Only a true god decides who lives in this world…"_

_He ripped his arm out from Raynes' torso. The Briton, choking on his own blood, gave a shocked and pained gasp of air. Stumbling back just a few metres, he seemed to sway on his feet for half a moment. Then, with a final choked attempt to breathe, he fell backwards onto the ground, a trickle of blood running out of the side of his semi-open mouth._

_Asher looked down upon him pitifully. "Selected to become a god?" He gave a slight scoff. "_You_?" He shook his head. "Still arrogant after all this time. Only someone worthy of godhood is able to _be_ selected. Anyone else who actually believes in their own superiority has no place in the proper world. And yet," he raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, "what you say has given me all the knowledge required to do what must be done for the good of humanity…"_

***

Asher leaned back in his chair, the coldness in his face replaced by his usual cool and indifferent expression. "Hellstorm is the ultimate equalizer Agent Gibbs. Not only does it eradicate the weak in order to stop them from overrunning the planet and creating more chaos, but it also seeks out the false power-holders; those people who believe themselves to be superior to everyone else just because they possess some sort of material power- wealth, authority, religious influence. Hellstorm doesn't discriminate; it's unbiased and judges everyone equally. The only reason you would seek to stop it from occurring is if you fear that you would lose your grip on the power you have now. That's the effect of Hellstorm- that's the result of fairness."

Gibbs stared at him in an unbelieving, furious way. "Fairness?" He repeated incredulously. "And I suppose it was out of complete and utter _fairness_ that you killed three junior field agents and then brutalized one of my team members as a sort of calling card to Ziva?"

"Hmm." Asher put on an expression of mock thoughtfulness. "You must mean McGee."

"That's _Agent_ McGee to you." Gibbs growled at the rogue soldier. "You showed him absolutely no mercy and no respect yesterday so now you're not going to get any from me. Why did you attack him?"

"I needed to send Ziva a message," Asher responded indifferently. "Agent McGee was convenient; he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it had been you that came down to the path, you would have been the one lying in the hospital right now- not that I'd doubt you'd switch places with him in a second if you could. Under that rough exterior, you're just a pathetic, paranoid power-freak. But that's beside the point; McGee was a close colleague of Ziva's, so he wasn't exempt from being targeted. It was a purely tactical move on my part. And besides…"

"Besides what?" Gibbs prompted at the Canadian's pause.

Asher looked coolly into Gibbs' eyes. "_I wanted to cause Ziva pain_…"

Gibbs felt a sudden rush of anger and rage go through him. He suddenly recalled his confrontation with Ari a couple of years prior; the rogue Mossad agent had killed Kate- sniped her from afar like an animal to be hunted- and why? "_I wanted to cause you pain_…"

Swallowing his fury, he listened as Asher continued nonchalantly. "So," the ex-JTF2 operative said, "when I say that what happened to your junior field agent was nothing personal," he nodded and gave a small smile, "you know I'm speaking the truth."

"You can start speaking the truth about your plans for the Hellstorm you've had in your possession." Gibbs said lowly and dangerously. "Where is it? What are you planning to do with it?"

Asher merely stared at the team leader indifferently. Gibbs suddenly brought his hands up and slammed them down onto the table, the noise echoing throughout the room. Under normal circumstances, this well-utilized tactic of his would have caused a suspect to nearly jump out of their chair and start spilling information like a broken faucet. But Asher didn't so much as bat an eyelid. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked in a bored tone. "Was that supposed to _scare_ me? Your tactics are getting a little dated."

"Believe me," Gibbs said through gritted teeth, "I have a collection of tactics that are just dying to add your name to them."

Asher gave a small smirk. "I spent most of my life growing up between summers in East Vancouver and winters in northern Manitoba." He raised his eyebrows. "You want to intimidate me? You're going to have to do a _hell_ of a lot better than that."

"Oh I will." Gibbs got out of his chair and leaned in close. "You're not going anywhere- we have plenty of time…"

Turning abruptly away from the Canadian, he walked brusquely out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Marching past Tony, he wasn't overly surprised when the senior field agent jogged up beside him. "Boss where are you going?"

"To either get a cup of coffee or commit a grand felony DiNozzo." He stared at Tony. "I'm not sure you'd want to be around when my mind is made up."

"Uh, boss, with all due respect, do you think we should just leave him there unwatched?"

"No one's forcing you to come along DiNozzo; you can stay behind if you like. Ziva's going to be along shortly; I think she plans on using her own method of interrogation. You may get in her way between her and Ballack though, if you decide to remain behind."

"Coming along for a cup of coffee, boss." Tony's answer was immediate and prompt. He quickly followed Gibbs towards the direction of the stairs.

Behind them, from behind the other corner, Abby peered out from her place of concealment. She waited until the two men were out of sight around the corner, and then promptly marched straight into the Interrogation Room.

Asher looked up towards her, a look of mild interest on his face. Abby, her eyes burning into his own came over to the desk and sat down across from him, never breaking her glare. In a slightly more-than-interested tone, he remarked casually, "Well, well, well. The exclusive Abigail Scuito makes her appearance."

Speaking in a low tone that literally pulsated with rage, Abby said, "You're the one who hurt McGee." Her face was filled with malice and hatred. "I should kill you right here and now."

Asher merely gave a casual smile. "You are more than welcome to try. Of course," he continued, "a good many people- so-called 'professionals'- have been trying the same thing for the last three years, and as you can see, I'm still very much alive. I wouldn't expect much more if I were you; you'll only do harm to yourself. And anyway, what would it be over? Some weak and unimportant technophile whose importance to humanity is absolutely nothing?"

Abby's eyes filled with white-hot rage. "Don't you _dare_ speak that way about McGee! He's a million times more of a man than you could _ever_ be!"

"Considering the fact that one must actually feel emotion to be considered a male human," Asher responded coolly, "I'm inclined to agree with you. However, that does not change the fact that his place in this world is worthless. He matters to you- so what? What are you a part of? A corrupt organization who's trying to mask its own fear and paranoia? Not the best grounds for defending someone who's also part of that."

"There's no one watching from outside." Abby's said dangerously. "No one to bear witness to what goes on here. I'm very capable of killing someone and leaving no forensic evidence behind." She leaned in closer to him. "What's to say I won't do that to you."

Asher merely stared at her impassively for a moment. "Would you like to know," he said- slowly and surgically, "why I left your MIT graduate alive?"

Abby stared at him without saying anything. Without waiting for more than a moment after this sentence, he went on, "Death is too easy for some purposes. You can't get the same…" he gestured with his hand, "…sense of panic and hopelessness that one feels if you merely end of a life. It has to be drained from them, bit by bit."

Abby didn't say anything. Though there was no sadism or pleasure in Ballack's voice, the cool indifference of his intonations was somehow even worse. "You see," Asher raised his eyebrows, "even the most hard-hearted individuals will lose their focus when a member of their inner circle is in danger. And you want to know what I noticed? If that member is already dead, then the individual in question has a renewed strength to retaliate. There's nothing further to worry about; their friend is dead and there's nothing more they can do for them. There is however something they can do for them, and that is _get revenge_." He leaned forward. "But when that member is hovering between life and death, it is _then_ that the individual loses their ability to act efficiently. Because, it's that _level of uncertainty_. What's to say that friend of theirs won't die the second they leave them? What if they suffer further along the way? What can they do, if _anything_?" He gave a curt nod. "That was the point behind your boy-toy's suffering."

He waited for a second before going on. "And you want to know what else I noticed? When people are nearing the brink of death, their hypocritical mask is exposed, and they end up showing you who exactly they are underneath." He raised his eyebrows. "So, technically, I knew your geek better than you could ever possible know him." He seemed to stare off into space for a few moments. Then he shrugged and turned back to her. "Would you like to know just how much blood that he lost was tinted with the stench of a coward?"

Abby's eyes darkened over. With a sudden movement, she tore the spiked collar from around her neck and delivered a vicious blow with it to the side of Asher's face. "You bastard!" She swung her collar back and forth, delivering blow after blow to the Canadian's head. She didn't care about anything else; all she wanted to do was hurt him in the most painful way possible.

The door to the room burst open. "Abby!" Tony raced forward and grabbed the Goth by the arms, trying to avoid getting hit by the crazed scientist. "Abby , stop!"

"Let me go!" Abby fought furiously to free herself from his grasp. "He hurt McGee!"

Asher merely stared at them with a look of contentment. The bloody puncture wounds on his face instantly healed, leaving not so much as a scar behind. "You know if McGee had given half the fight you just gave, maybe he'd actually be somewhat useful in the field."

Tony forced a struggling Abby out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Tony, get off of me or I swear to God, you will be the next one who feels my wrath!"

"Abby, listen to me!" Tony spun her around to face him, though keeping a grasp on her shoulders. "What did you think you were doing? That guy's not some scumbag off the street; he's a professional assassin! You can't just go in there alone with him!"

"He's the cause of everything that's happened to us!" Abby shouted back. "He's the reason Ziva was almost killed! He's the reason my Timmy's in the hospital on life support! You expect me to just sit back and watch him casually run circles around us?!"

"And a lot of good it would do if you ended up alongside McGee in the hospital or worse because of your own blind hatred!" Tony retorted. "Gibbs would first resurrect you just so he could read you the Riot Act for it. And then he'd kill me for letting you go in there. Which he may still do if I don't get you back to your lab. Come on. And behave yourself!"

The senior field agent guided a protesting Abby down the hallway. He just hoped Gibbs wouldn't find out about this little incident. If he did, Tony would never have to worry about being head-slapped ever again.

***

Asher discreetly looked down towards his hand. Slowly, he unravelled it and examined his palm and the object within it; a sharp pointy spike from Abby's collar. Such a small object, and yet it could be put to so many uses.

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching; slow, deliberate footsteps. He knew who they belonged to perfectly well. Quickly and discreetly, he slipped the piece of metal under the cuff between his right wrist and the metal.

The door slowly opened, and Asher looked up to see Ziva slowly walk into the room, her eyes locked on his face. She kept facing him until the door closed behind her, after which she slowly turned around. Carefully and deliberately, she brought her hand up towards the handle and slowly turned the lock…

Asher watched her with an expression of moderate interest. Slowly and directly she walked up to the table opposite of him.

"So," she said, putting her hands on the table and leaning down slightly towards him, "_let's talk_…"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	22. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Asher looked up towards her with a look of mild interest. His face, not showing the slightest hint of fear, turned slightly in a curious fashion. For a moment, not a word passed from his throat, and when he finally did speak, the words he used were unusual.

"_Wo fangen wir an_?"

Ziva's knowledge of German was somewhat limited, but she knew enough to understand what her ex-partner was saying.

_Where do we begin_?

Ziva responded by grabbing the back of Asher's head and slamming him, forehead first, into the metal table. The sound vibrated around the room as though a sledgehammer had been brought down on it, but it seemed it was the table that may have gotten the worst of it; Asher merely blinked a couple of times, gave his head a brief shake and looked up, almost pitifully at his former partner. He scoffed, "Didn't Mossad teach you _anything_ about interrogation? The first place you never hit someone is the head; the nerves become all…" he motioned with his hand, "_…numb_. They won't be able to feel the next-"

Ziva brought her fist up and slammed her knuckles into Asher's finger joints, which were casually resting on the table. Under normal circumstances, the impact would have been enough to snap the bones in two and make the victim scream in agony, but Asher merely stared up into space with a thoughtful expression, as though he were waiting for something to happen. After a few seconds, he looked back towards her and said, in a very much I-told-you-so tone, "You see?"

"You asked me earlier if I thought if it was possible to kill you; perhaps it's time we tested that for real." Ziva's voice was low and dangerous. With one hand she drew a knife from her belt and in a swift motion pressed it against his abdomen. "How about I cut you in half below the waist?" Her tone stone cold, she added, "See how effective _that_ is…"

"You know you really could show a little gratitude." Asher responded gravelly and completely at ease. "After all," he raised his eyebrows, "I _did_ spare your life back in that alleyway. Of course- I couldn't kill you Ziva; you were my ally in that little episode. You lured a very annoying intrusive Mossad agent out of hiding; you gave me the perfect opportunity to take him out, and then you gave ample time for Natalya to blow her little oil facility rather than allow it to fall into your hands. You did exactly as I wanted you to do, and I thought that deserved a little recognition."

With a sudden movement, he grabbed hold of Ziva's wrist with one of his own; the startled Israeli momentarily hesitated and for a moment was poised to apply one of her killing holds. But surprisingly, Asher lifted her arm and pressed the blade against his own throat. Staring directly into her eyes, he remarked- lowly and gravelly, "You know the most satisfying feeling in the world is having the life of another person at the tips of your fingers. That sense of power, of control- being able to spare or crush that life with a snap of your wrist." He raised his eyebrows. "It's second nature to people like you and me."

"How would you know?" Ziva replied just as coolly. "Didn't you just say you no longer feel anything anymore?"

"You'd know that better than I would. After all, Mossad designed you to be a cold-hearted killer long before you ever heard of me. I think it's safe to say that I'm just a mirror image of you back a few years; same remorseless attitude, with the sole exception of coming to terms with it instead of trying to pretend to be a do-gooder."

Ziva stared at him for a moment; then she forcibly pulled her hand out of his grasp. "As much as I'd love to test just how well you can make these dry remarks of yours with your throat severed wide open," she sheathed her knife, "I'm not going to make it that easy for you."

"Oh?"

"I need you breathing to talk." She took a seat across from him. "And I have _many_ ways of making people talk when they don't want to."

"You know your record since this all began hasn't been as restrained as you would have liked." The Canadian responded smugly. He leaned in forward. "And I have to say I approve." He said in a somewhat lower tone, "_You let quite a few allies and civilians die_…" He stared off for a couple of seconds before shrugging, "Then," he turned back to her, "you let Natalya get away with her Grade A merchandise. Even to someone like me," he narrowed his eyes, "that's _harsh_…"

"Where's Russikov?" Ziva cut it. She had had more than enough beating around the bushes and fancy monologues from Asher; the fact that he was so cool under such circumstances made her both uneasy and angry. She wanted to cut through this prancing around and get straight to the point; the lives of countless innocents likely hung on it.

But Asher merely went on in his usual way. "Those short-sighted mob fools in Israel want you to come back so they can carry on as though _nothing has happened_." The last three words were said with slight sarcasm. He gave a curt nod of the head. "But I understand what's really going on; there's no way you can go back. You've set in motion a series of events that no one can possibly hope to stop."

"If that is true," Ziva responded, "why are you trying so hard to make my life miserable?"

Asher's mouth split into a toothy grin, even through his eyes remained unchanged. A very audible chuckle rose from his throat. "Oh Ziva, you're still completely narrow-minded. I'm not trying to make your life miserable; I'm trying to _wake you up_ to the reality of the situation here. You can be a crucial part to how the world will operate once reality has set in and done its work. I'm really doing you a favour by giving you a heads up; it would've been so much easier to just let you get run over by the necessary purge of humanity."

"Who are you to judge what is necessary?" Ziva said angrily. "You betrayed your own country and the people who trusted you for some insane plan to massacre innocent people. You're just a terrorist who kills for pleasure."

"Don't talk as though you're one of them- you're _not_!" Asher cut in forcefully, pointing at the observation window behind her. He stared at her for a second, then raised his eyebrows and said in his usual lower tone, "_Even if you try to be_…" He shook his head. "To them, you're nothing but a kill-happy rogue- like me. Oh, they have need of your skills _right now_," he paused and stared into her eyes, "but the second they feel you're infringing on their control," another raised eyebrow, "they'll abandon you; leave you to rot in some dark room across on the other side of the world. You see, their power- their _authority_," he shook his head, "it's a pathetic façade." He snapped his fingers. "Shattered at the first push against it." He stared at her. "They're only as powerful as the world _allows_ them to be." He nodded. "You'll see; when it comes right down to it, these, uh…" A pitiful and unbelieving look crossed his face. "These _upholders_ of corrupt power and authority," he nodded, "they'll collapse out of fear."

He leaned back. "Who's the real terrorist here Ziva? The man who does what's necessary to save humanity as a whole, regardless of the cost, or the woman who travels the globe assassinating people who _might_ pose a threat to her home country just because Daddy tells her to? Everyone has a necessary evil; yours are the feelings of trust and friendship you have to painstakingly endure to keep the trust of your corrupt teammates here. Mine…" he hesitated for a moment, "is using a corrupt power-grabber in order to help destroy every corrupt power-grabber on the planet."

"So Russikov _is_ aligned with you for her own reasons." Although it was more a statement than a question, Ziva didn't believe that Asher would give a legitimate response, but surprisingly he answered immediately.

"Her oil facility contained the necessary equipment for the recreation and storage of Hellstorm. She was able to mass produce it."

"She didn't join you because of your ideas of a survival-of-the-fittest world."

"Of course not." Asher's tone reflected the obviousness of his belief. "She believed my plan would eliminate all her sources of her rivalry and leave her in control of the world's entire oil supply."

Ziva gazed at him, and then said slowly, "But in reality you _are_ planning to release her supply of Hellstorm somewhere in the United States."

"Then watch America collapse upon itself through the destruction of the unworthy." Asher replied, coolly and simply.

***

Just outside the perimeter of NCIS, a helicopter stealthily moved into position. Small, yet powerful, it moved silently inside the parameters of NCIS. The pilot gave a small smile to herself, and then pulled out a schematic plan from just beside her seat.

***

"You're going to destroy countless lives."

Asher scoffed and sat back in his chair. "Only a naïve, simple-minded fool would describe the existences that these people endure as _lives_, Ziva. Corruption, genocide, exploitation by the powerful in order to serve their agendas- this was _not_ how humanity was meant to live in this world." He leaned forward with a serious face and said lowly, but very powerfully, "The stabilization of the world has relied on decisive people like us since mankind was first created. We assassinated Caesar; stopped Napoleon's rabid imperial delusions; brought the mighty Soviet Union to its knees. Every time one state or civilization grows too powerful for the good of humanity," he gave a curt nod, "_we_ are the ones that arrive and restore stability."

Ziva felt a sense of concern. Asher's attitude had completely changed in the last few minutes. He now seemed very rational, very official, as though he _wanted_ to describe to Ziva what he knew. That made her uneasy. "What you plan to do makes you no better than them." She replied. "You're judging every single person in this country by the actions of a select few. There are good people here-"

"You are defending a country that is so corrupt and drunk with power," Asher cut in, "that they have literally handed us the keys to their own self-destruction…"

***

The pilot of the helicopter gave a curt nod and put the schematics down. Just as she thought; the main floor of the building was largely un-armoured. No reinforcement meant this would make her job that much easier…

***

"When I first met you, you were tool being used by a corrupt, paranoid organization." Asher stared at her in an almost pitying manner. "But I looked up to you. You showed me the means to accomplish what is necessary and gave me the chance to prove it. You were the greatest source of influence and knowledge that I've ever had." He gave a nod. "_You_ are the one who should be standing alongside me, saving the world."

Ziva stared at him before replying firmly, "I know exactly where I'll be standing- between you and the people of America."

Asher was silent for a moment, and then said, "No one can save America."

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her directly. "When the household guard dog becomes aggressive to the point of attacking every single thing it sees, it must be put down for the safety of everyone around it. The rebalancing and harmonization of the globe will be irreversible _this_ time."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "People have tried to 're-stabilize' the world before?"

"Of course. Since the earliest civilizations, people have been trying to eliminate any external threat that might infringe upon their daily lives. Al-Qaeda targeted an American cultural symbol on 9/11: the World Trade Centre; the symbol of U.S. global power and influence. And considering the economic recession it finds itself in, I can't say it's been a total failure. But, they underestimated the influence of some of the world's citizens," Asher looked her in the eyes and said, just barely above a whisper, "_such as your sister Tali_…"

Ziva looked up suddenly and stared him directly in the face, a combination of shock, disbelief and anger covering her face. Asher's face was largely expressionless as his head turned to the left. "Blown up by one of the very people that her home state had helped isolate by their desire for power." He turned back towards her. "Create enough paranoia about one's own influence and everyone becomes a terrorist. Her death convinced you to join the corrupt Mossad agency that destabilizes the world with every move it makes instead of becoming something that could save it and the globe has cracked and crumbled ever since." His eyes bore into hers. "_I_ am going to finish the job you should have started in the first place, and this time no short-minded idealists are going to stop it from happening. Just like your father and your fellow NCIS sheep, you lack the will and the belief to do what is truly necessary. You see, if someone stands between you and truly necessary action," he leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone, "all you have to do is walk up behind them and stab them in the back…"

With a sudden movement, Ziva seized Asher by the collar and, standing up, dragged him over the desk to the other side. Even though she was a good deal smaller than the Canadian, her fury gave her a burst of adrenaline-fuelled strength. Her face mere inches from his, she said lowly and dangerously, "What's your plan?"

"Why don't you ask yourself? Since you acted in the way I wanted you to, you should be able to understand my mind perfectly." Asher responded, sounding more like his old self.

Ziva promptly turned and slammed him against the wall. Still holding on to him, she said in the same low tone, "I don't take kindly to being manipulated."

Asher gave a short chuckle. "I don't have a hold over you Ziva- I never did." He raised his eyebrows. "You made your decisions on your own. I just wanted to make sure you didn't stray too far from the path I'm going down right now."

"And that would be?"

Asher grinned slightly. "The harder you try to fight something, the easier it is to lose yourself in it. And right now, you're going to become that cold-hearted killer Mossad designed you to be…."

Tightening her grip on his collar, she muttered, "I'm very strongly considering it."

"You know, you never were good at working things out for yourself," Asher replied nonchalantly, "so maybe a little encouragement is needed to draw your mind towards him."

Ziva paused, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean, 'him'?"

"You know, I'm beginning to think it was a mistake on my part to put the beat-down on the quite useless Timothy McGee." He responded. "He's not the one that really sends your heart-racing, is he? My attention should have been someone… closer to home for you. After all, the look of horror on your face when you thought he was going to have his heart punched out…" He gave a toothy grin and curt but very audible chuckle.

Ziva snapped.

Whirling around, she threw Asher against the side of the table. The sounded radiated around the room, followed by the laughter pouring from the Canadian's throat.

"Not so much in control now Ziva?"

Ziva stood facing the wall, shaking with rage. Not a single rational thought was going through her mind; all she felt was blind fury and hatred. Hatred for the way he taunted her. About death. About Tony.

Promptly, she whirled around and started storming towards him. Over the pounding in her head, she could vaguely hear him say, "Does DiNozzo know just how many beats your heart skipped when I had him on the verge of life and death?"

Ziva grabbed hold of the back of Asher's head and threw him forehead first into the observation window. The glass cracked from the force of the impact and several shards when crashing to the floor along with Asher himself. Her eyes giving a look that could probably put a scare in the devil, she shouted down at her ex-partner, "What are you planning?!"

"You know to love someone is to kill them." Asher responded, completely unfazed.

Ziva struck her fist across his face as hard as she could, ignoring the raging pain that went soaring through her knuckles. "_What are you planning?!_"

"It's to choose which of your life styles to destroy." The Canadian continued. "The ruthless side that lets you survive the impossible odds, or the human side that lets the person you care about get slaughtered like a weak little calf!"

Ziva reared back and delivered a vicious kick to the underside of Asher's jaw. A blow that would shatter the bones of a normal person, it did absolutely nothing except cause her foot to explode. Asher lay on his back on the floor, a flood of hysterical laughter flowing from his mouth. Ending it with a few chuckles, he looked up amusedly and said, "You haven't got a _damn thing_ that you can threaten me with!"

Ziva reached down and grabbed the Canadian by the collar and lifted him up. Staring into her furious face defiantly he went on, "You're trapped in your rage with nothing but your own anger for company. Welcome to the real word Ziva!" He paused, and then said in a lower tone, "Now get ready to leave it…"

***

The pilot adjusted the targeting coordinates. That was it; dead on target. The world would soon know the name Natalya Russikov; everyone who survived would bow down to her like a Goddess. And it was all thanks to _him_…

"Come back to me Asher," she murmured, "Come back to your future queen…"

She pressed the trigger; a sole rocket shot out from the bottom of the helicopter, soaring through the air right towards the ground floor building…

***

Ziva stumbled backwards; the entire room had just been shaken by a violent explosion from somewhere upstairs. Her focus momentarily shifted and her grip of Asher's shirt loosened just a touch.

That was all it took.

Half a second after the room had first felt the effects of the explosion, he had slipped the metal spike from underneath the cuff into his hand.

A second later, he had used it to unlock the cuffs around his wrists.

Half a second after that, just as Ziva was regaining her senses she looked down to see Asher bringing the cuffs, in both hands up towards her face. Releasing her grip on his collar, she managed to get hands up in time to prevent being smacked in the face. As she grabbed hold of the piece of metal and struggled to gain an advantage Asher suddenly launched himself sideways. Ziva felt herself fly across the room and land with her torso across the table. Asher pulled the cuffs upwards, and as they both struggled to hold on, they found themselves standing face-to-face.

"I will not let you carry out what you're planning." Ziva said in a strained voice, staring right into his eyes.

"You never were very good at seeing what was _right in front_ of you!" Asher retorted. He suddenly jerked his arms to the right and threw the cuffs to the side of the room. Caught off guard, Ziva was momentarily left in a vulnerable position. In that split second, Asher kicked the underbelly of the table, lifting it up into the air and turning it so that the top faced her. Asher then spun around and delivered a vicious kick to the underbelly, sending the table smashing into Ziva. The force of the impact sent both the table and Ziva flying backwards, crashing through the observation window. Ziva landed heavily on her back with the table still on her, which then bounced to the other side of the hall.

Asher jumped through the remains of the observation window and stared down at the Mossad agent. Her eyes closed, lying amongst hundreds of pieces of glass, there was no indication of her getting up. In an authoritative voice, he said:

"Everything has a price to pay for it. You turned your back on me and then left me alive."

He paused momentarily, and then, just before turning on his heel and walking off said, "_Consider what happens from now on as a consequence of your actions_…"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	23. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**A/N:** **Thanks to all the people that reviewed- I really appreciate it! BTW- does anyone else feel like there should be songs in the background of these fights scenes? I personally can picture them with: You Spin Me Right Round by Dope (especially when Asher is doing all his flips), Blow Me Away and Dance with the Devil by Breaking Benjamin. Anyone else have an idea?**

Upstairs on the first floor of NCIS, total pandemonium rained. People were running everywhere, trying to douse the fires that sprung up from the explosion with fire extinguishers or pulling their wounded comrades out of danger. Technicians were frantically typing away at the few computers that were still up and running, trying valiantly to save data before it got permanently lost. Even Jimmy Palmer was up there, trying frantically to keep the blood loss from a junior agent's injured leg at a minimum while trying not to burst into panic at the same time.

Gibbs came charging onto the scene, having run all the way from MTAC the second the explosion happened. Though his face portrayed that of an determined Marine trying to stay cool under fire, inside his gut was rolling around and around out of fear. Fear of what happened- because of _him_. Damn it, he _knew_ something was wrong when he had headed upstairs; why the hell had he left in the first place? If something terrible had happened because he had ignored his instinctive gut, he'd never forgive himself. Well, he would- right after he had killed the person responsible for this with his bare hands.

"Boss!" Gibbs' head whipped around to see Tony- breathless and sweating- run over to him. The senior field agent had a look in his eyes that combined worry, determination and- was that _guilt_?

"Boss, what happened to you?" Tony's eyes were focused on the front of Gibbs' shirt, whose bright blue fabric was now stained a dark brown over a large area in the centre.

"Don't you think we have a situation that is just a little more important than my laundry DiNozzo?" Gibbs' firm voice covered up any embarrassment he might otherwise have felt; explosion or no explosion, there was no way in hell that he was going to let on that he had voluntarily dropped his coffee after the ruckus and had inadvertently succeeded in soaking the front of his shirt with it in the process. "What the hell are you doing here?" Gibbs stared at the man. "I thought you said were going back down!"

Tony's mind fumbled. How the hell was he going to explain this one to the boss? "Um, well yeah, I was going to go down there, but I, uh… I changed my mind at the last minute. You know, with all the tension that was going on down there, I figured I'd do better up here. Much more exciting paperwork to do! And I- I…" Tony's rambling came to a stuttering halt under the piercing stare of Gibbs. The former marine sniper said very calmly, "Are you telling me you left Ziva alone in Interrogation with Ballack and no form of back-up?"

"No!" Tony answered way too quickly. "Boss, Ziva wasn't even there when I went down. You know how she likes to, uh… _prepare_ for an interrogation of her own. I had no desire to make myself the first person she saw in that mode. Besides, with all the trouble I had with Abby, I thought…." Tony realized what he had just said and immediately clammed up, but it was too late.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What about Abby, DiNozzo?"

"Nothing boss!" Another piercing stare. "Well, just that she _might_ have gotten into Interrogation before Ziva arrived and…"

"And?"

"It's possible she could have been physically attacking Ballack at the time that I arrived, and… she _may_ have accidentally broken one of the spikes from her collar off during that time before I could stop her…"

Tony's voice trailed away; the look on Gibbs' face told him he wasn't going to let this go by easily. He nervously gulped and braced himself for what he knew was coming.

_Thwack!_

Gibbs' slap to the back of his head seemed to sting even more so than usual, but maybe that was because he had already mentally done the same thing to himself several times. The team leader was staring at him with a combination of anger and disappointment.

"That was for leaving Ziva all by herself in a dangerous situation." Gibbs said in a matching tone.

He raised his hand and slapped the back of Tony's head again. "That was letting Abby get anywhere near that sociopath."

He delivered a third slap, the most stinging of all. "And that was for behaving like a green, junior probie. What the hell's wrong with you DiNozzo? I thought you were a lot smarter than this!"

Tony rubbed the back of his head shamefully. "Sorry boss."

"Never apologize." Gibbs reprimanded sternly. "It's a sign of weakness. And seeing the situation we find ourselves in, I'd say we don't need any more weaknesses right now, would you?"

Tony stood up straighter, attempting to gain his self-confidence back, and replied, "No boss!"

"Then what the hell are you standing around here for?" Gibbs looked him dead in the eye. "Go down and check on Ziva; I'll check on Abby and try to get the situation under control." He stared at the senior field agent. "NOW, DiNozzo!"

Tony snapped out of his trance. "On it boss!" He made a sprint for the stairs.

Gibbs strode over to the emergency panel and unhesitatingly pulled down the lever. A blaring alert siren started echoing throughout the room and a large red flashing light replaced the normal ceiling ones. Throughout the flashes, Gibbs grabbed the phone that was located next to the lever and shouted into it, "This is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs! NCIS is officially under lockdown! We have a possibly armed and extremely dangerous terrorist loose in the building! I repeat- we have a terrorist loose in the building!"

***

Tony galloped down the stairs three at a time. On the outside, he was a federal agent coming to the aid of his partner to help her against a dangerous criminal. On the inside, he was a shaking, terrified wreck of a man. Mentally, he cursed himself over and over at how stupidly foolish and naïve he had been.

_What the hell's wrong with you Tony? How could you be so damn idiotic as to leave Ziva- your partner - in the middle of trouble and just go off nonchalantly? What is it with you and failing your teammates? First Kate, then Jenn- sorry, Director Shepard- get killed right under your nose, then McGee gets ambushed and left for dead like a piece of trash. And now Ziva; what if she's- no she wouldn't be… but supposing she is… Damn it Tony, get it together and MOVE!_

Tony raced around the corner to the hallway that led to the interrogation room. He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart instantly freezing at the sight before him.

Throughout the blaring alarm and blinking red light signalling the lockdown, he could see the motionless figure of the Mossad officer, lying sprawled out on the floor; pieces of glass surrounding her, the Interrogation Room table lying on its side just above her head, the shattered window to the room across from her. There was no sign of the rogue Canadian soldier.

"Oh no, no, _no_…" Tony raced across the corridor towards where his partner lay. _Please God, don't let it be_…

"Ziva!" Tony reached the prostrate form of the Israeli. He lightly slapped her face. "Come on Ziva, don't do this to me! I really don't relish having to tell Gibbs I let you just go without a fight. Come on Ziva- wake up!" _Damn it Ziva, don't you dare die on me! I've lost far too many people I've cared about before_…

Ziva's eyes fluttered for just a second, and then slowly opened. The glazed view she had in them immediately narrowed into a predatory look. She immediately grabbed Tony by the arm and spun over. Tony barely had time to react; one second he was kneeling on the ground trying desperately to awaken his partner, the next he found himself pinned on his back the floor, with one hand twisted painfully to his side, a knee in his solar plexus and a foot pressed against his throat. Struggling to get an ounce of air into his lungs, he managed to spit out, "Ziva, it's me! Tony! I know how much you like being all up close and personal with me, but this is a bit too close for comfort!"

Ziva, staring down on him, quickly came back to her senses. Her predatory look was immediately replaced by a concerned one. "Tony!" She immediately released him and helped him to his feet. However, when she spoke there a definite steely edge to it

"Where is he?"

"Ballack?"

"No Tony, the President of Israel!" She shot him an exasperated look. "_Yes_, Ballack!"

"I don't know! I just got here myself! What happened to you?"

Ziva let out a mixture of a groan and a growl. "He got free somehow. Damn it, I _had _him! I had him right where I wanted him and then…" She gestured wildly. "I'm _not_ letting that bastard escape! We have to track him down!"

"Okay, well he obviously didn't come down the way I came so he must have gone the other way."

Ziva restrained her frustration at Tony's 'logic'. "Obviously. But why go down there? The only thing there is the forensic…"

Ziva's voice abruptly cut itself off. The two agents stared at each other in growing horror. They turned towards the corridor where the Canadian had obviously gone.

"_Abby_…" Ziva whispered.

"_Gibbs_…" Tony murmured.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! Yeah I know it's short but bear with me here!**


	24. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Gibbs thundered down the stairs that led to Abby's lab. With the building under lockdown, the elevator was no longer operational. Not that he'd have taken it anyway; the damn thing was far too slow for a situation such as this. _Situation? What the hell are you talking about? This is Abby's life that's in the balance! Quit thinking and DO something!_

The team leader pounded down the last steps and drew his weapon just as he reached the door to Abby's lab; the door was closed, as it usually was, but he could hear from inside the hard tunes of one of Abby's beloved heavy metal songs. Gibbs felt his gut curl up even more; there was no way Abby could miss the flashing red light of the lockdown, even if her music was loud enough to drone out the alarm. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

Gibbs reared back and delivered a vicious kick to the door's weak spot near the wall at the centre. There was a mighty _crack_ and the door swung open. The ex-sniper rushed into the room, gun sweeping everywhere.

"Abby!" He called out. "Abby, can you hear me!" Even though he was bellowing at the top of his lungs, his voice was still barely audible over the blaring noise. Frantically, his eyes scanned the lab, looking for something- _anything_- which gave an indication of what was going on in the room.

At first everything seemed normal; there was no sign of a struggle- no broken lab equipment or anything of that sort. As a matter of fact, it seemed like everything was perfectly fine and completely normal. _Too_ normal for the circumstances…

That's when the lead agent caught it; not a sight- a smell. Like some kind of spilt chemical. Right then and there, he knew something was wrong. There was no way that Abby would ever leave any kind of lab accident unattended. She'd sooner wear normal clothes and listen to smooth jazz before she left a spill, and _that_ was pushing things to the extreme. No, something was terribly wrong. Especially when the smell that filled the room was exactly like that of-

_Gasoline_… The ex-Marine's mind sub-consciously spat out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of just a flash of movement. In a second, he had swung his gun around and aimed it at the source, but froze up for just half a second when he realized what he was aiming at. Sitting crouched on the floor in a protective position, leaning against a wall, shaking and with a look of pure fright on her face, was Abby. The Goth scientist had a look of terror in her eyes so great it looked as though she had just come face to face with the Devil himself. Gibbs immediately semi-lowered his weapon and took a step towards her.

"Abby!" He tried to speak in as loud a tone as possible to make himself heard without frightening her even more, but with the alarm it was damn near impossible. He was beginning to have second thoughts about triggering the lockdown.

"Abby, are you alright? What happened?"

Abby merely kept shaking, her face paling even more under her makeup. Gibbs considered the possibility she might be in shock and was just considering whether he ought not to try conversing with her in sign language when the Goth's action snapped him into Marine mode. The forensic scientist's eyes grew extremely wide and over the din she shouted, "Gibbs, _behind you_!"

The team leader had begun to react even before Abby had gotten the '_you_' out of her mouth. He swung around and began to bring his gun up to the level of his shoulder. As a marine he had thrived and survived on being quicker than his adversary- something he had never forgotten. But this time, he just wasn't quick enough.

As he brought his gun up into the ready-to-fire position something he could only describe as a whirlwind moved in front of him. There was a dark blur and a second later he felt the iron grip on someone grabbing hold on his weapon hand. A second later, this whirlwind had twisted around and gave a vicious right elbow to Gibbs' solar plexus. Doubling over in pain, the marine sniper caught a glimpse of the figure disappearing into thin air. Half a second later, the figure reappeared and Gibbs instantly felt the sledgehammer-like force of the backhanded fist slam into his forehead. The team leader felt his feet leave the ground and for a second all he could sense was the sensation of flying backward through the air. That soon came to an end as his back slammed full force against the back wall, sending him crashing into a sitting position right next to Abby.

The Goth immediately grabbed hold of him. "Gibbs!"

He moved his head towards the sound of her voice, the edges of his vision blurred and darkened. As his sight glazed over he saw the panic-stricken face of the forensic scientist. It was a look so terrified he almost forgot the fact that he was in pain. His head beginning to clear, he turned back towards the direction he'd been knocked from, taking in the sight before him.

The recently captured, even more recently escaped Asher Ballack was walking slowly to the side right in front of him. Despite the blaring siren and obvious sign of a lockdown, there was no hint of fear or concern in the Canadian's face, and Gibbs realized that what Ballack had been saying about not feeling anything anymore had been true; even under the calmest of circumstances, Gibbs had never been able to feel truly at ease. He had thought being at ease had been a weakness- now he was viewing it as the one thing that separated being human and being something like _him_.

Ballack turned and slowly started to pace in the other direction. He had retrieved his trench coat and gloves and was now wearing them again. Gibbs had a good idea the rogue JTF2 agent had put the scare into Abby when he retrieved them, and he felt a flare of anger as he considered what may have happened before he got there. As he struggled to stand, Ballack began to speak, slowly and gravelly, while he reached into an inner pocket of his trench coat.

"You know, Agent Gibbs, the one thing that's occurred to me in the last little while is the constant stress you put yourself under." He pulled out his sunglasses. "The pressure that you believe in thriving on is actually your greatest enemy that will end up breaking you slowly from the inside." He slid the shades onto his face with a look of cool contentment. "Sit back, take a breather- you look like a man who takes himself far too seriously." He reached into another coat pocket and pulled something else from it. "You want my opinion?" He flicked some kind of switch on the object in his hand; there was a _click_ and a little flame appeared near the top. "You need to _lighten up_…"

Abby's eyes grew even wider at the sight- the implication was not lost on her. She was so focused on the lighter in the man's hand that she barely heard the commotion that was going on at the side of the room.

"Asher!" Ziva's strong voice from near the doorway seemed to shake both Abby and Gibbs out of their temporary trances. Turning towards the entrance, they saw the Mossad officer race into the room followed by Tony. Both had their weapons drawn and upon seeing the Canadian immediately raised them up towards his head.

Asher flicked his wrist, sending the lighter spinning directly up into the air. For a moment it seemed to hover, the flame still lit, just above his head. Then, as if in slow motion, it spun downwards towards the floor, right in front of the rogue agent.

Right onto the strong-smelling liquid that was poured in a straight line directly in front of him…

There was a _WHOOSH_ and in a flash- literally- a tall wall of flame immediately burst up in front of Asher, separating him from the NCIS agents. Ziva and Tony reflexively turned away from the blazing heat, temporarily lowering their weapons for a second. Ziva was the first to recover, and as she turned back towards the direction of her ex-partner, she caught side of him rearing backwards, facing the window, in a charge position; there a dark blur and in a split second he had disappeared. There a tremendous _CRASH_ and through the flames she saw the windows of Abby's lab leading outside, which had been reinforced to be bulletproof after the team's encounter with Ari, shatter outwards like a fragile piece of china, sending thousands of shards flying in the process. Apparently they were not reinforced enough to withstand a human-sized bullet, nor keep him inside long enough to get a clear shot at him.

"Damn it!" Ziva swore loudly. If only she had gotten there a few seconds before. Just a _few seconds_…

The automated sprinklers went on inside the laboratory, making the flames rapidly begin to die out. When she turned around to check to see if her teammates were alright, she saw they had not moved from their positions since their adversary's unique exit.

"What the hell are you all standing around for?" The harsh tone of the Israeli caught the three other members of the team off guard. "Are you going to let him get away? Move!" She made a move towards the door.

"Ziva!" The firm tone of Gibbs caused her to stop and turn around. Getting to his feet, the ex-sniper looked her piercing and sternly in the eye. "In case you've forgotten _again_, I give the orders around here! That means you don't go charging after terrorists blindly!"

"Gibbs, we do not have time to be arguing!" Ziva said wildly. "He's going to escape if we don't go after him!"

"That won't happen." Gibbs said sternly. "And you want to know the reason it won't?" He bent down to pick up his gun before marching firmly towards the entrance. "Because _I_ have a few more 'words' I'd like to share with him." He stopped and turned around. "There a reason you aren't trying to stop a terrorist from escaping into the city?!" He shouted at the rest of the team.

The others needed no more motivation for quickly following him out the door.

***

Ziva sprinted ahead of the rest of the group towards the front entrance. Every step she took and every beat of heart she no longer heard or felt. All she could concentrate on was stopping him. He was going to unleash hell upon this city- hell upon this country. No- hell upon the _world_. He was entirely capable of doing so and if he did it would all be her fault. She couldn't let that happen. She _wouldn't_…

Bursting through the front door, Ziva whirled around in all directions, looking wildly for the individual in question. She could see smoke rising up from the damaged part of the first floor, the brick and metal crumbled and twisted. Little fires rose up from the places where the explosion had taken place, none serious but needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. Out of the corner of her eye, on the outer wall of the building, she spotted movement, and as her hawk-like eyes focused on it she stopped dead as she saw her ex-partner- she'd have to call it _leaping_- up the wall towards the roof. The action he was doing was very much like that of a bounding jungle cat, temporarily gripping onto the wall with his fingers and feet before leaping forwards- or in this case _upwards_- towards the top. It would have been quite impressive if it weren't such a serious situation.

Gritting her teeth, Ziva raised her weapon and began firing. The bullets bounced off the wall around Asher, sending little pieces flying tin the air, but always _just_ missing the rogue agent. She kept firing as the Canadian neared the roof, and as he moved closer Ziva could hear the low roar of rotator blades.

Asher jumped up onto the roof just as a helicopter came into view. It hovered about twenty feet above the roof and through the front window Ziva could see the porcelain, triumphant face of Natalya Russikov in the pilot's seat.

_Oil queen, terrorist associate and now helicopter pilot_. It was Tony's mind that spat out this thought. _Damn, she really __is__ impressive. Maybe those are the __real__ assets that Ballack found in her. Nah, that can't be the case! I mean, would you just get a load of those_…

Tony's thoughts were abruptly cut short by the sounds of gunfire; Ziva and Gibbs were both aiming and firing at Ballack, and the senior field agent quickly got his mind back on track and followed suite. The NCIS agents watched in astonishment as Ballack leapt straight up into the air- a good _fifteen feet_- and grabbed hold of one of the helicopter's landing skids, skilfully avoiding the trajectory of the incoming bullets. In one skilful move, he flipped himself forward, let go of the skid, executed a mid-air back-flip and landed smoothly in the co-pilot's chair. Natalya gave him a look that ranged between admiration and lustful desire and promptly pulled the controls upward; the chopper pulled away from the roof.

Ziva kept firing, even though she knew there was little chance of hitting him at this point. Through the side window, she caught a glimpse of Asher; coolly, calmly and collectively, he gave a single wave to her before the chopper flew out of the NCIS zone.

Ziva wasn't aware her gun was empty- not even as she heard the clicks of the hammer as she pulled the trigger over and over- until a firm hand grabbed her gently by the wrist and pulled it slowly down. Looking towards the source, she saw Tony's face- worried, concerned- but she didn't think about that. She was fully ready to knock him out, out of pure frustration when, fortunately for him, the door burst open to reveal Ducky, breathless and sweating.

"Thank God you're all alright!" The senior M.E spoke in breathless gasps. "For a second Mr. Palmer and I were wondering if you'd made it out alive! But we have a serious problem."

"Gee, yah think Ducky?" Gibbs' tone was predictably sarcastic. "In case you haven't noticed, NCIS has been attacked! A dangerous terrorist has just escaped our custody because of it! I want every available agent working on tracking that helicopter and anywhere it may have gone!"

"Jethro…"

"Any agent who is not occupied with trying to track that helicopter or retrieve valuable data from the system will attend to the wounded or try to get the fires under control."

"Jethro…"

"I'm going to get on the phone with a few Navy acquaintances; see if I can get some support on that end. The more people we have on our side, the better the chance we have at-"

"JETHRO!!"

"_What_ is it Ducky?" Gibbs snapped, clearly frustrated at the interruption. The elder man looked at him sternly.

"I am fully aware of the severity of the situation here at NCIS, but there is an equally serious situation that you should be aware of." Ducky's look admonished the team leader as he went on. I just received a call from Georgetown University Hospital. They were calling with two pieces of important news for you- about Timothy." 

Right there he had the attention of the entire team. Gibbs felt a flood of ice water rush through his veins. Tony snapped to attention in a way he had only ever done when Gibbs was riding his ass for something serious. Abby's eyes opened significantly wider and she brought her hands, nervously wringing, up to her neck. Ziva felt something drop in the pit of her stomach.

It was Gibbs who recovered first. "What did they say Ducky?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

"First of all, that Timothy's sister Sarah has just arrived. She demanded to see Timothy and when the staff told her she could not, she demanded to speak to you. In person."

Gibbs felt his gut twist even more. Sarah was one of the closest people to McGee personally. He knew that they would do just about anything for each other, and if Sarah wanted to speak to him in person, something had to be very wrong.

"And the second thing?"

Ducky gave a quiet sigh. He reached up and slowly slid off his glasses.

Abby gave a gasp. "What is it Ducky?" There was silence. "Ducky!" She grabbed onto his arm. "Tell me! What happened? Is he alright?"

"Ducky." Gibbs' firm voice spoke up. "We need to know what's going on. What did the hospital say?"

Ducky looked up, a sad, grim look on his face. "They just received word from the emergency room." He suddenly looked ten years older. "It happened just as young Sarah arrived to see her brother." He gave another sigh. "I'm afraid Timothy has crashed."

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	25. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

If Gibbs had thought that things couldn't _possibly_ get any worse before, he had been wrong. _Dead wrong_. If he had still been in the Marines, his error might very well have cost him his life. Now he wished it _was_ his life that hung in the balance- instead of that of his youngest agent.

Driving over to the hospital at an even more reckless pace than usual, he kept going over everything in his mind- again. He tried to think- to analyze; to keep everything in his mind rational and to avoid bringing emotion into it. But it was just too damn impossible; every single time he tried to come up with a solution or concrete steps he could take to solve the issue at hand all he came up with was either a giant blank or his own voice in his head telling him that everything was his fault. And in a way he believed it was right; his insistence that McGee go out into a dangerous area without any backup, his failure to stop Ziva from running off on her personal vendetta, his foolish decision to leave both Ziva and Abby within the reach of that bastard, and now the bastard in question escaping with his wealthy Russian oil queen. Oh yes, he hadn't thought things couldn't get _any_ worse! How naïve could he be? And now hearing that McGee had crashed right at the exact moment the world's most dangerous terrorist with potentially the world's most destructive weapon of mass destruction had escaped into the capital city of the world's most powerful country. That was on his head too. What _else _could possibly happen?

That question was answered almost as soon as the ex-marine sniper stepped through the doors to the emergency unit. As he passed by the reception desk, there was a flash of movement as someone quickly stood up out of their seat and he heard a familiar voice call out to him: "Sir! You can't enter the emergency unit! It's strictly for-"

Gibbs turned towards the desk to observe the same receptionist who had given him a rather unsatisfactory welcome the last time he had been here and promptly gave her one of his infamous stares. Upon recognizing who he was, the woman straightened up, and although she didn't seem overly fazed by Gibbs' look she immediately put on a look of understanding.

"Agent Gibbs." Her tone was cordial, if not somewhat reproached. "I take it you're here concerning the latest status report of your fellow agent Timothy McGee."

"Status report?" Gibbs' tone was anything but cordial. "I receive second-hand word from your staff that one of my Agents has suddenly crashed without knowing _anything_ about what his condition was prior to that and all you can call it is a _status report_?"

"Agent Gibbs, I understand your anger but we could not release that information without approval from the emergency unit staff. Agent McGee's condition was relatively stable prior to about a half hour ago. He flat-lined without any apparent warning and we had to get him into the emergency room immediately. I don't…"

"You don't what?" A new voice interrupted. Looking to his side where it had come from, Gibbs could see a very stone-faced Tony come up to the desk. "Whether he is currently alive or dead? How can you work here and not know about the status of your own patients?"

"Agent McGee is alive, Mr…"

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." There was no mistaking the frustration in the senior field agent's voice.

"Agent DiNozzo. I can't tell you much more other than that Patient McGee has been stabilized and is out of immediate danger. He is being kept in the Intensive Care Room for further observation to make sure this does not happen again. Until it has been determined that there is no further danger to his cardiac or pulmonary system, he is under strict order not to receive any visitors."

"Override that order." It was a demand, not a request from Gibbs.

"I can't do that Agent Gibbs; I'm not authorized to…"

"Find a way to authorize it and then do it."

The receptionist stared back at him sternly; Tony, watching from the sidelines, had to give her credit for matching stares with a very pissed off Gibbs. It wasn't a feat that you saw every day. "Agent Gibbs, even if I could authorize you permission to see your agent, I wouldn't. He has been under more than enough stress over the past twenty-four hours. Disturbing him at this stage would risk further attacks that could be potentially fatal for him in his current state. I understand that you want to see for yourself that he is not in any immediate danger, but if you aggravate him in the slightest at this stage it could end up making things much worse."

Gibbs fought to keep his temper in check. He knew logically that she was right- that the less stress McGee endured the better- but that didn't mean he had to say that to her. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours- so much he _should_ have been able to prevent- that he felt it was now his duty to keep the rest of his team safe from any more harm. If there was any hope of keeping the lives of his teammates safe, he would do it. Even if it ended up killing him.

He considered saying as much to the receptionist. However, whatever Gibbs may have been planning to say to her was interrupted by the sound of a commotion from down the hall. Gibbs and Tony both turned towards the direction of a sound; at least one loud voice coming from one of the rooms in the ER wing.

"He's _my_ brother! He's the closest person I have in the world right now and you're telling me I can't see him?!"

"Miss McGee, I know how concerned you are for your brother, but right now it is too risky for him to receive any visitors. The strain and stress of the last twenty-four hours would be too much for him to handle…"

"Bull _shit_." Tony raised an eyebrow at this outburst; Gibbs remained neutral faced. "This isn't about what's best for him! Tim's far tougher than you could ever imagine. He risked his job in order to help me when I was in trouble once and he puts his life on the line for both his colleagues and people he's never even met! What does _that_ tell you about him?"

"If you want my personal, unprofessional opinion, it means he's risking his life far too many times for his own good and it finally caught up with him. Now if you'll excuse me Miss McGee, I have a critical patient I need to attend to."

"Don't you dare walk away from me! Come back here! Where the hell are you going?"

From one of the rooms about ten or fifteen yards emerged the somewhat flustered and rather annoyed figure of Dr. Ralston, the doctor that Gibbs had met when he arrived at the hospital the first time. As he walked across to another room on the opposite side of the hall, another figure emerged after him; the obviously agitated one of McGee's younger sister Sarah. The look on her face was one of both fear and anger; Gibbs recalled seeing similar looks on McGee's face when Sarah had been accused of murder about a year previous. The two siblings shared the same emotions, even if they expressed them in different ways.

Sarah started to pursue the doctor into the other room but happened to turn her head towards the reception desk as she did so. Upon seeing Gibbs, she froze, stared at him for a moment or two, and then started marching directly towards him at a determined pace.

Gibbs stepped up towards her. "Sarah," he said in tone that coming from might just appear to be soft and gentle. "Ducky said the hospital staff told him you wanted to…"

Gibbs never got the 'see me' part of the sentence out; Sarah suddenly and loudly slapped him right across the face.

Gibbs stood still for about a whole minute, trying to process what had just happened. It was the _way_ she had slapped him that had caught him off guard; so sudden he hadn't been expecting it at all. The sting was slightly painful but not overbearing- no, it was the fact that she had slapped him at _all_ which hurt him more.

Sarah stood before him, her own eyes- red likely from crying and filled with both fear and anger- bore into his own. "Why Gibbs?" Though her voice was relatively steady, there was a faint tremble in it- it wasn't distinct enough to tell whether she was close to screaming at him or bursting into tears.

Gibbs stared at her confused. "Why what Sarah? What do you mean?"

"Whenever I talked to Tim," Sarah said in a low tone that was now showing more signs of trembling, "he always said how much he respected you, how much he looked up to you. He said you were a hard boss that demanded nothing less than accurate results, but never _once_ did I hear him complain about it. He puts his life on the line every single day he comes to work. He put his career on the line to help me when everyone else thought I was a murderer."

"I know." Gibbs' tone _was_ soft and gentle this time. "I appreciate Tim's abilities greatly; without him my team wouldn't be nearly as good as it is."

"Then why did you let this happen to him?"

The words hit Gibbs like a sledgehammer in the chest. "Why did I let…" His voice trailed away.

"Oh no Gibbs." This time there was no mistaking the fury in Sarah's voice. "Don't you _dare_ pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Don't you _dare_… You were one of the few people in the world that Tim trusted absolutely implicitly; how could let this happen to him? I haven't been able to get anything solid out of the doctors here but I get the picture that he was attacked at a crime scene doing a job that _you_ likely sent him to do! What's the matter Gibbs? Do you feel that he needs to prove himself by going alone into danger before he can become as good an agent as the rest?"

Gibbs felt as if his chest caved in. He couldn't believe he was actually hearing this- hearing the sister of one of his top agents accuse him of directly putting him in danger. On the outside he struggled maintain his composure, even though he knew he had to set the record straight with the young woman over the whole situation. "Sarah, please try to calm down. Just for a moment. You've got this all wrong; I'll explain everything to you." He reached for her shoulders to try stop her shaking but she quickly jerked out of his grasp.

"Keep your goddamn hands off me!" She screamed, and Gibbs saw her red eyes mist over and then start leaking tears down her cheeks. "It's your fault that Tim's in here! You sent him all alone! You let him be attacked! Why?!" She hit him in the chest with an open palm. "Why?! Tell me why!" She began hitting his chest with her fists in a noticeably weak way. Gibbs caught hold of them but did not maintain a very firm grip; there was no need since the fight was already starting to go out of the young woman.

"_Why, why, why_…?" The tears starting to stream down her face, Sarah stopped her feeble attempts to pull away, and instead slowly leaned against him with her head pressed sideways against his chest. "Why Tim? Why did it have to be Tim? _Oh, God…_"

The ex-marine felt her whole body shake as he held her close. He had never been one for offering kind words or support to grieving family members but feeling the young woman in his arms reminded him of what he had lost; Shannon, Kelly, Kate, Jenny- and maybe now McGee as well. _Yeah, you're right Sarah. I __am_ _responsible; it __is__ my fault. And I have absolutely no excuse for it. Just my own hard-assed nature of demanding nothing less than perfection. Well, if that's the case, the one thing that will make this right is putting a sniper bullet through that bastard's head._

Gibbs was abruptly distracted from his thoughts as he felt in cell ring in his pocket. Still holding onto the trembling Sarah, he reached into his pants pocket, pulled it out and flipped it open. "Gibbs."

"_We have a hit on the helicopter_."

Gibbs paused at the sound of Ziva's voice. He had insisted that she remain behind at NCIS to keep an eye on Abby; the Goth hadn't taken the news of McGee's sudden critical status very well. Ziva had protested at first, but then agreed, saying she would also use the time to try to track Ballack and Russikov's helicopter. Apparently that had paid off.

"Where?"

"_On the west side of the ship yard_; _there's another warehouse there that was leased out to AISSEX four weeks ago. I should have found it sooner; someone like Natalya Russikov has the resources and the knowledge to acquire multiple storage facilities. It should have come up in my original search_."

"We have it now." Gibbs said firmly. "Grab your gear and head over there; I'll be there soon."

"_Gibbs, that may not be soon enough. I just pulled up a satellite view of the warehouse; local law enforcement has converged all around it_."

Gibbs paused, more out of the unexpected revelation of the local police arriving at the scene before him rather than Ziva's ability to pull up a satellite shot with no apparent difficulty. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

"_I cannot say for certain. What I can tell you is that there is a helicopter seemingly abandoned outside the warehouse, and that the local police authorities are walking in and out of it with no apparent sign of trouble. Something is obviously going on, yes?_"

Gibbs silently cursed his luck at being beaten to a potential crime scene and having all the evidence contaminated. "Get over there as quick as you can Ziva. Make sure Ducky stays with Abby while you're gone. I'll be over as soon as I can."

He abruptly terminated the call and turned to Tony, who had been largely silent for the last few minutes. "DiNozzo, you stay with Sarah. Under no circumstances are you to leave her. Understood?"

"Yes boss."

"And call me if you hear any news about McGee."

"Will do."

Carefully, Gibbs handed the still shaking young woman over to Tony, who immediately guided her over to a chair and let her rest her head on his shoulder.

The team leader abruptly turned around and began walking towards the exit. If there was one thing he was going to make sure of, he thought as he passed through the doors, it was that if someone had been foolish enough to impede on his pursuit of McGee's attacker, they were going to be in for one hell of an ass-chewing.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	26. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

By the time Gibbs had arrived at the warehouse in question, the sight had given him even more reason to give a tongue-lashing to every single person he saw. Yellow police tape was strung liberally across the entire area, affectively blocking off any route towards the apparent crime scene. Police officers walked all around the building; though this one had only one floor and notably smaller than the last, it seemed to have a certain ominous presence to it in the darkness. Gibbs had barely registered the fact that night had already fallen on Washington, only fully realizing how late it was when he glanced at the Charger's clock that read 8:53 pm. It was only then that he realized that he and most of his team had been up and about chasing leads for more than twenty-four hours- and now he was starting to feel the stress of it. Any exhaustion he felt at the moment was immediately placed by frustration and annoyance when he saw the abandoned helicopter being inspected by non-NCIS forensic scientists. Someone was going to do some explaining.

Slamming on the brakes with more force than was necessary, the team leader got out of the vehicle and strode over towards the taped off section in front of the warehouse. In the light of the police lamps that had been set up, he could see the figure of Ziva standing just behind the line; she seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion with a man standing on the other side of the tape wearing a light brown suit.

As Gibbs strode up towards the pair, he could hear the raised voice of the Mossad officer reaching dangerously high levels, and he could almost see the relief on the man's face for the distraction when he turned towards the ex-sniper.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you'll have to move back; this is an open crime scene."

Gibbs flashed his badge in front of the man's face. "And now it's our crime scene. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Another NCIS?" The relief on the man's face was quickly replaced by a look of exasperation and frustration. "You people just hang around waiting for the Washington PD to have a crime scene in order to come barging in and claim it as your own? I suppose this one," he gave a curt nod towards Ziva, "belongs to you."

"This one," Ziva replied very tersely, "happens to have a name."

"Yes, you've mentioned that, but I'm afraid it changes nothing." He turned back to Gibbs. "Detective Kevin Hayworth, Washington Police Department. As I've been explaining here to Miss David…"

"That's _Officer_ David." Ziva corrected in the same tone. "Officer Ziva David, liaison to NCIS from the _Israeli Mossad_."

Gibbs could almost swear that he heard Tony's amused chuckle and see his stupid grin in the back of his mind.

The remark however seemed to fall on deaf ears of the man, who merely went on. "As I've explained to Officer David, this is an open crime scene under the jurisdiction of the local law enforcement. The shipyard is public property; therefore NCIS has no authority here."

"It does when the crime scene your people are contaminating with every passing second is part of an NCIS hunt for wanted fugitives." Gibbs replied as calmly as he could, which was hardly calm at all.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the helicopter that you're currently blundering over is almost certainly the same one used by a pair of fugitives wanted by NCIS for federal crimes. I'm not going to waste time explaining the whole damn story to you but if you want any hope of retiring out to Miami and enjoying the benefits of your pension plan, you will relinquish control of this scene to our control right now."

Hayworth frowned and crossed his arms. "I don't take threats lightly, Agent Gibbs."

"Believe me," Gibbs got right up in the man's face, "you don't know the _half_ of the threat that's going on right now. And I don't mean from me; I mean from what'll happen if you don't get the hell out of our way. If something bad _does _happen because you thought it was more important to get a pat on the back and a medal from your chief than about saving innocent lives," he leaned in uncomfortably close, "then the next threat that you'll have to worry about will be in the form of not just an NCIS agent but also a former Marine."

The shot told. Although the detective continued to frown, Gibbs saw a flicker of doubt flash across his eyes. He uncrossed his arms and took a step back. "Very well," he said. "Out of the interest of _cooperation_," he said the word with a slightly bitter edge, "I'll allow NCIS temporal jurisdiction over the crime scene. However, this is still a civilian area; I expect any evidence that you collect to be shared with our own department."

"You'll get you evidence." Gibbs said distractedly as he and Ziva stepped under the police tape and brushed past Hayworth. "After we've let it run its course."

The two agents walked towards the front entrance to the warehouse; in the background they could hear the detective speak into a radio, ordering all units to temporarily withdraw from the scene and allow NCIS free passage onto it.

Once they were out of earshot, Ziva murmured to Gibbs, "You didn't tell him the details of who it is we're chasing and why the threat they pose is so great."

"Of course not. His units have already contaminated the evidence enough; we don't need them causing further damage. And anyway, what would we tell them? We're tracking a rogue Canadian soldier with superhuman abilities being aided by the CEO of a Russian oil company in order to wreck havoc on the entire world? Somehow I doubt that they'd be able to keep that under wraps."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "Why would they try to wrap that up? It's not like they can cover it with tin foil…"

"Figure of speech David. It means to be silent about something."

"Ah." There was no time to further contemplate the complexities of the English language, for at that moment the two reached the front entrance of the warehouse. The lone young officer standing outside nodded towards them.

"Detective Hayworth told us to let you into the crime scene." He said formally. "Go right ahead; it's all yours for now. Just mind that none of the bodies are too badly disturbed."

Gibbs, who was already halfway towards pushing open the slightly ajar door, had been tempted to snap at the officer that they had probably disturbed this crime scene more than he had at all the other crime scenes he'd been to in his whole life, but upon processing what had been said he turned back to look at the young man. "Did you say 'bodies'?"

"Yes. Considering the state of the inside of that room, I'm surprised they're in as good condition as there in. Well," he looked around slightly embarrassed, "apart from being dead I mean. But apart from that everything is pretty much alright. I mean, not that it's alright being dead, but…"

"Thank you, _officer_." Gibbs cut in. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go wait with your detective behind the yellow line. You know- the one that's meant to keep out people who are not supposed to be there."

"Oh, right!" The officer gave a brisk nod. "Of course. Let us know if you need any help."

As he turned and walked away, Gibbs and Ziva exchanged glances. There was an unspoken understanding between them; something wasn't right.

Wordlessly, Gibbs turned back to the door and cautiously pushed it open. He carefully stepped inside, Ziva following closely behind him.

There was just a single room in this warehouse, barely bigger than the size of MTAC back at NCIS. Under normal circumstances, at this time of night the interior would have been pitch black, yet instead there was a bright glow that radiated around the room. Looking towards the back, the two agents immediately saw the cause of them.

And stopped dead in their tracks.

Gibbs could almost swear he heard a tiny gasp that seemed to originate from Ziva's throat, but he couldn't be sure because he was too transfixed on the scene in front of him to look over towards her.

Near the back of the room were three wooden structures, each about six feet high. One was in the form of large cross; the second was shaped in the form of two overlapping triangles, one right side up, the other facing downwards, to form a star-like shape; the final one was in the form of a crescent with a smaller star attached just a yard or two away from it on the right.

And all three were burning with fire.

Gibbs' eyes passed over from one structure to the next; the flames did not reach very high off their platforms and he immediately took note of the fact that there was next to no smoke coming off of any of them. Quickly reflecting back on his past knowledge, he took this to be a sign that the structures had not been set on fire directly, and that it was very likely some kind of special flammable substance had been applied to the wood. He was no scientist, but it had to be something that produced very little carbon. Or had Abby said…

"Gibbs." The team leader's thoughts were cut short as he looked over towards Ziva, who was staring at the base of the wooden structures. Following her gaze, his muscles tightened as he saw three motionless figures lying on their backs. All of them were wearing standard civilian clothing; the ones lying in front of the cross and the star were clearly Caucasian while one in front of the crescent had a darker complexion, all with eyes wide open. The necks of the first two were twisted at awkward angles- same as the junior agents on the back road- while the last one's face was covered in blood from an obvious head wound. Gibbs felt his body temperature rise, knowing it had nothing to do with the fires, but before he could step forward and examine them closer, he caught sight of Ziva, who was walking past him towards the left wall about ten yards from the burning structures.

Gibbs opened his mouth, but as soon as he caught sight of what she was looking at he let the 'What are you doing?' die in his throat. Slowly, he walked up alongside her and examined the wall.

Written on the side of the room, in a red substance he got the distinct feeling had come from a nearby source, were figures- figures similar to those on the tree back at the residence of Barry Goldstein. Hebrew, he now understood.

הישועה אין צורך אברהם

"_Salvation has no need for Abraham_".

Gibbs turned his head. "Ziva?"

She turned towards him slowly, an expression that seemed to suggest a lack of control on her face. "That's what it says Gibbs."

Staring at her for a moment, Gibbs turned and looked back at the bodies, then at the burning structures. It was only then that he figured it out.

_Of course_. Each of the structures was a symbol for the three faiths of Abraham; the cross representing Christianity, the star being the Star of David representing Judaism, and the crescent and star representing Islam. If his gut was right, and it almost always was, it was virtually certain that each of the three victims belonged to one of these religions. Ballack was sending a message, he realized; Hellstorm does not distinct among any kind of religious identity. Or possibly religion has no place in his own twisted ideal world. Either way, Gibbs thought angrily, he had not stopped at killing three innocent men and showed utter contempt for the various faiths and beliefs that made up the lives of so many people around the world- especially here in the US.

Ziva stared at the burning figures, the twisted and mangled bodies underneath them. Subconsciously, she raised a hand and fingered her Star of David necklace; staring at the burning one in front of her made her feel as if her own fingers were burning along with it.

A memory forced its way to the front of her mind- a painful memory…

…_an entire square filled with bodies lying everywhere, all badly massacred, some alight and still on fire…_

…_a little boy, probably no more than eight years old, lying on his stomach…eyes stared blankly into her own, lifeless, as though searching for answers…_

Ziva suddenly felt as if her throat was closed off, as if the atmosphere had suddenly become un-breathable. As if the environment was deliberately trying to choke the life out of her…

She spun around and made a dash towards the door. Grabbing hold of it she stopped just outside and bent over, drawing in painful breaths into her lungs. Trying to get the atmosphere out of her system- trying to get _him_ out of her head…

"Ziva?"

She looked up to see Gibbs looking down on her with concern. Quickly she straightened up. "I'm fine Gibbs. I'm perfectly fine."

The lead agent raised an eyebrow at her- a clear sign that he didn't believe a word she just said. Ziva tensed up, as though waiting for the inevitable shouting at her for being so weak willed to take place.

Instead, he merely said calmly, "No you're not."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean? I said I'm alright…"

"David, do you think I'm an idiot? I can _see_ that you're not alright- I can _sense_ it." He sighed. "And that's my fault. You've been working non-stop for more than twenty-four hours- we all have. And this is the result. Go home and come back to work in the morning."

"No!" Ziva said quickly. "Gibbs, we can't stop now! Not when Ballack is still out there. Every moment we waste lets him get closer to his goal. We can't allow him…"

"_I_ am not going to allow one of my best agents to crack apart at the seams just when we're getting closer to finding the bastard." Gibbs interrupted. "If you try to stop Ballack like this, all you're going to do is wind up dead, just like those three in the warehouse. You need to be at peak capacity; that's why I'm calling DiNozzo to take you home."

"But the scene…"

"Leave it. I'll call the back-up NCIS squad to come and make sure they take care of it. In the meantime, we all need to recharge in order to be prepared. Come back at eight hundred hours; you're going to need all the rest you can get."

"But…"

Gibbs silenced her with a stare; this one barely took five seconds to take affect, as Ziva's defences were so low they pierced right through them. "Go and wait by the Charger while I call DiNozzo."

Ziva's shoulders seemed to sag- her fighting spirit seemed to wither- as she turned and walked back towards the NCIS van. Gibbs took his phone from his pocket and dialled. After he called Tony, he would call Abby and tell her to take the rest of the night off as well- a very difficult task that was going to be. Then he'd call the back-up team and tell them to get their asses here on the double.

Tony answered on the second ring. "_DiNozzo_."

"DiNozzo, I need you to come down to the following area." He quickly gave Tony directions to the warehouse. "I want you to pick up Ziva and take her back to your place for the night."

"_Is she alright boss_?" Gibbs could hear the concern in Tony's voice.

"That depends on how quickly you get down here DiNozzo. Make sure both of you get some rest tonight. Come back to NCIS"- _or what's left of it_- "at eight hundred hours. And I mean _rest_ DiNozzo; not some other nightly activity."

"_Got it boss; rule 12_."

"Damn right. By the way, how are McGee and Sarah doing?"

"_One of the nurses took Sarah to a room of her own; they think she's in mild shock_."

"I'm not surprised." Gibbs' tone was far more unconcerned than he was actually feeling. "She's been through a lot- as have we all. And McGee?"

"_Still relatively stable boss; the doctors still aren't saying much_."

"Again I'm not surprised. Get down here ASAP Tony; I think Ziva's going to need more help than she'll admit."

"_Leaving right now boss_."

Gibbs sighed as he hung up his phone. Being awake and on the go for almost forty-eight hours straight was beginning to take its toll on him; he needed some rest too. He'd go home as soon as the back-up team arrived and try to get a few hours sleep.

After that, it would be back to work trying to catch the bastard.

Or, if Gibbs had his way, putting him down for good.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! I know no Hebrew, so if my translation is wrong, please tell me!**


	27. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**A/N: Mac- I haven't seen the episode Jurisdiction; I haven't really been keeping up with many of the recent NCIS episodes. But I'm glad to see that you're such a big fan of this fic. Maybe others will too with the description change!**

Tony turned his head and stared at the door of his bedroom for the third time in less than five minutes. His concerned eyes passed over the closed wooden frame, looking for any sign that it might open up and reveal the occupant behind it. His ears, seasoned by his years in the Baltimore PD, carefully tuned in to any goings-on that were going on within the room. He let out an internal sigh of disappointment as the only thing he caught was the hum of his own air conditioner.

To a point, he was both surprised and upset at the lack of reaction he had so far encountered. When he had first arrived at the scene that Gibbs had directed him to, he had expected to see a furious Ziva arguing with Gibbs over his decision to send them home for the night. He had expected her to turn her wrath upon him- to look at him with that deadly glare of hers; to threaten to kill him with a paper clip if he so much as suggested she call it quits for the night; to go off on another vigilante hunt of her own without the support of the team. In fact, he almost _wanted_ to see that in Ziva; anything to show that she still had the fighting spirit he had long come to admire in her.

Instead, when he got to the scene he had seen a shadow of that strong woman; a figure who had silently and slowly walked up to his car and had gotten into the passenger side without a word. Along the drive home, he kept trying to break through her shell. He asked her what had happened, even though Gibbs had already told him what had happened at the scene. He tried quoting from movies that he thought were related to the situation, hoping that she would see the humour in it. He even tried declaring that he was looking forward to seeing her 'homely, more feminine side', knowing full well that she would disagree- strongly- with his insinuations and throw it back at him. But instead of the subtle threat and not-so-subtle retort he was expecting- and hoping for- Ziva had merely stared straight ahead and had not uttered a sound. He kept glancing at her in the rear-view mirror, each time seeing her eyes staring off into space; her fingers clasp her golden Star of David necklace. She was awake- she was fully conscious- but she wasn't really _there_. It reminded him very strongly of the figure he had seen in the hospital bed the previous day; only this time, he didn't know what to do. For the time being, there was no terrorist to hunt down, no evidence to process- only a partner who looked less and less alive with every passing moment.

And now, seeing as how she had gone into his bedroom and abruptly closed the door ten minutes earlier, he got the sense that she didn't _feel_ very alive either. Ziva had never been one to show her emotions- he supposed that was standard training for all super-deadly ninja Mossad assassins- he had never seen her in a state such as this. For all the difficult situations he had seen her in, she had never looked as _beaten_ and _broken_ as she looked now. It caused him a lot of pain to see her like that. He had only recently come to realize just how much he truly cared for her; after all, she _was_ his partner. And if things kept up the way they were, he might just have to admit to himself that he could just _possibly_ call her a… close friend. Not that he'd actually come out and _say_ that- especially not to Pro…

It was a second before he remembered the current situation of the junior field agent, and he cursed himself for being so narrow-minded and forgetful. If they all came out of this situation in one piece, he'd have to remind himself to start calling McGee by his proper name- at least for a little while. Still, if the Elf Lord thought the ex-cop would start pouring his heart out to him, he was in for a big disappointment.

Tony wasn't entirely sure _what_ was in his heart right now- at least not when it came to Ziva…

***

_The hot Damascus sun beat down onto the area. The tiny suburb was devastated; a physical reminder of the chaos that had reigned not five minutes before. Bullet-ridden bodies lay everywhere; men and women, but fortunately no children. While some of the corpses were those of Hamas militants, still carrying their AK-47s, most were civilians; innocent people whose only crimes had been being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being unable to stand up to a bunch of extremist terrorists. And now for there crime, they were dead; not by her hand, but it didn't make her feel any less responsible._

_In the centre of the square was where he stood; in his right hand he held the large combat knife, the blade glinting in the midday sun. The blade itself was covered in freshly drawn blood; he stared at it with an expression of high interest; his eyes looking longingly at the weapon in his hand. _

_A middle-aged woman came running over towards him; an unarmed woman, abandoning the body of a young, equally unarmed man, screaming at him in Arabic. 'Why did you do this to my son?!' she yelled. 'He did nothing wrong!'_

_Asher whipped around and rammed the knife into her torso. Her protests ceased; she looked at him with an expression of both disbelief and hurt, before sinking to the ground like so many of the rest, joining the masses killed by the invading foreigners._

_She tried to move towards him- to stop him from hurting anyone else, but it was if her legs were frozen in place. She looked over to where Korella, Raynes and Mjele stood- solemn expressions on their faces. 'Why are they just standing there?' she thought. 'Why aren't they doing anything?'_

_She looked back towards her partner as he slowly made his way towards another man, crouched on his knees, hands on the ground and head bent forwards. He was terrified, so much so that he didn't even look at the approaching Canadian with the huge combat blade. His lips moved rapidly, and she soon realized he was murmuring a prayer; begging for God to save him- for the foreigners to leave him and his family alone._

_Asher stopped in front of the man, staring down at him without a flicker of emotion as the man continued to pray. A moment passed without the JTF2 agent making any type of response. Then, as if on cue, his lips parted and his indifferent tone radiated in her ears._

"Salvation has no need for Allah…"

_He raised his arms above his head, the knife glinting in the sun. His gaze fixated temporarily on the trembling man below him, and then his eyes lifted up and met hers; a small smile of knowing and understanding crossed his face._

_The blade came down heavily on the man's neck…_

_Ziva turned her head away, unable to bear the sight before her. She felt a surge of bile in her throat, and struggled to force it back. 'Can't be sick,' she remembered from all her years of training. 'Can't show any emotion- emotion is a sign of weakness…'_

"_I knew this would happen sooner or later." _

_Ziva's head jerked up at the sound of the elder, male voice that came from right in front of her. Standing about five yards away from, casting an unimpressed, disapproving look, was her father._

"_Papa?"_

_The shock in her voice went unanswered as the Mossad director went on. "You allow yourself to become emotionally attached to the people you spend time around and what happens?" He shook his head. "You become weak and ineffective. In Mossad, someone like that is considered a liability."_

_She felt her insides freeze at her words. 'Liabilities' within her country's spy agency were subject to harsh consequences. At the very least- career termination and being under constant surveillance for the rest of one's life. And the worst…_

"_I do not understand. What are you talking about?"_

"_Do you really expect to do your job properly when you are surrounded by the weak-willed sheep of NCIS?" Eli asked coldly. "NCIS has made you weak Ziva. America has made you weak. You are no longer the iron-willed assassin who killed her own brother because it was necessary…"_

"_You mean necessary for _you_!"_

"_Do not interrupt me Ziva…"_

"_Do you not understand?!" She shouted. "I killed Ari because you told me so! You said it was necessary to gain Gibbs' trust! I believed you! I killed my own brother in order to help your agenda!"_

"_It was necessary. Ari was a traitor; he betrayed everyone who trusted him; you, me, Israel…"_

"_You speak as if you did not play a big role in that when we were children!"_

"_That is irrelevant. I trained you; I made you into what you are. And yet it is not enough. DO you honestly believe that you can stop Ballack like this?"_

_Ziva halted. "What do you mean?"_

_When Eli spoke again, it was in a very soft, low tone. "You cannot put Asher down when you are dragging loose ends like NCIS and your own morality with you, Ziva. To kill him, you are going to have to embrace your other side; that darker, cold-blooded killer that I saw when you committed your first assassination. Become that killer Ziva, and embrace your inner rage…"_

_She felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she stared into the young, but hardened face of Asher, indifference and coolness radiating off him. Matching her eyes with his own dark ones, he slid the bloody knife into her own hand and pressed her fingers around it. His voice was as casually indifferent as she remembered it:_

"_Don't worry Ziva; you have nothing to fear. After all- you're exactly like me. You always have been…"_

_He raised her hand which carried the knife upwards and pressed the blade against his throat. Giving a small smile, he said, "All it takes is a little- push…"_

_Ziva felt her muscles tense up; the knuckles of her right hand turned snow white. It was _there_. She could feel it in the depths of her heart; she could feel it coursing through her blood- the rage, the anger, the hate…_

"_Go to hell, you bastard!" She rammed her fist forward…_

***

"Ziva! Ziva, wake up!"

Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright. Her hand automatically went under the pillow, searching for her pistol. When she realized it wasn't there, she whipped around ready to face her attacker head on, only to stare into the wide-open surprised green eyes of Tony.

"Whoa, whoa!" He held up a hand in reaction to her vicious twist towards him. "Take it easy Zee; you're alright."

Breathing heavily, Ziva saw the concerned face of her partner; it was only then that she realized that she was not back in the bloody streets of Syria, nor was she alone in her own apartment, but lying on the bed of her co-worker- her friend. And she honest to God had no memory of getting there.

Tony, for his part, was also taking the sight before him. When he had last seen her, she had been wearing her traditional NCIS outfit, thrown casually over her black short-sleeved shirt. He had been preparing to offer her a change of clothes, but she had had gone into the bedroom and shut the door in his face before he had had the chance. However, he noted, it appeared that his efforts would have been unnecessary, as she was now wearing an old OSU sweatshirt of his as well as sweatpants. Clearly her mind was still at least capable of making unconscious decisions; that was at least one good sign.

As he stared over towards her, however, he was slightly shocked to see the figure of his partner, earlier today stronger than a wall of solid steel, begin to shake very noticeably. And not just a slight tremble- if it weren't for the fact that she was completely dry, he would have said with certainty that the Mossad officer had just dragged herself out of a freezing cold river. Her face had paled to such a degree that anyone who didn't know her would probably have thought she had just come from living her whole life in Siberia. Something was obviously terribly wrong.

"Ziva, what happened?" Tony made sure that his voice didn't startle her; the last thing she needed right now was any more reason to be uncomfortable. "You were screaming in your sleep. Telling someone to go to hell; calling them a bastard." His lips gave a small smile. "I, uh… I hope you didn't mean me. I know I'm a lot of things, but I'd have to draw the line with that one."

His attempt at humour, however, seemed to fall flat. Ziva merely stared straight ahead; her head shook from side to side, her eyes locked on the door to the room directly in front of her. When she spoke, it was in a voice barely in a whisper:

"_It's my fault…._"

Tony looked at her in confusion and shock. "What are you talking about?"

"Everything." Ziva looked at him, her eyes filled with both guilt and pain. "Everyone who has died or injured has been because of me. All the pain and suffering that people have had over the last three years; all the people that may die soon- it's my entire fault."

Tony stared at her wide-eyed. "How can you _possibly_ think something like that?" He asked in a low tone.

"I should have seen it coming." Ziva turned away from him. "I knew what Asher was before I quit the team; I _saw_ it. I knew he was a heartless animal before Somalia; that he would eventually do something that I would disagree with." Her next words were filled with self-hating venom. "And I did absolutely _nothing_ to stop him."

"Yes, you did!" Tony took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her towards him. "You stopped him from killing that young boy, didn't you? You saved the life of one kid because you knew it was the right thing to do, and that makes you far more than just a simple soldier. That makes you human- and trained Mossad assassin or not, you're as human as any of us; me, Abby, McGee, even Gibbs."

"And what good can come out of that?" Ziva shot angrily back. "I saved _one_ boy; what good did that do for the people Asher has harmed or killed since then? Korella, Raynes, Mjele, those other NCIS agents, McGee," she paused before adding solemnly, "_you_…"

"You don't need to include me." Tony said lightly, "You should know better than anyone that I've got a thick enough skull to withstand anything."

Ziva gave him a questioning look, so he added, "After all the head slaps Gibbs has given me, I think I can safely say that the old DiNozzo head is practically indestructible."

Ziva gave the faintest indications of a smile- which in turn made him smile- but it quickly vanished. She didn't tell him what was going on in her mind that overrode his attempts at cheering her up; the horrible thought of Tony's 'indestructible' skull crushed like a berry between Asher's hands. She had already felt her heart freeze at nearly seeing him getting impaled on the Canadian's arm- she couldn't bear the thought of seeing him in that danger again.

She merely shook her head. "And what about all the people whose lives are in danger now because of the threat of Hellstorm? I saw the look in his eyes when he told me of his idea of 'saving' the world, Tony; he was dead serious. Asher is not one to make false threats in that kind of way. He _will_ do what he says he intends to do. And it is _my_ fault that that is the case. I had the opportunity to kill him back in Somalia, and I _did not_…"

"And you were supposed to know that?" Tony asked incredulously. "You were supposed to know he was going to give himself Matrix-like abilities and use them for some grand scheme of world cleansing? Ziva, you're a good reader of people but do you truly believe that you could have figured it out back then what's happening now?"

"I could have _tried_." Ziva spat out. "Instead, I let him go to carry off his insane ideals and gain an immeasurable advantage over anyone who tries to stop him. And now," she shook her head, "I don't believe I _can_ stop him."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me? Can't stop him?" He looked at her astonished. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Ziva David?"

"I'm serious Tony." Her voice was low now, and as she raised her head to look into his eyes he could see the seriousness in her own. "I've seen what he is capable of. I've seen what he is willing to do in order to get his message across." She paused for a moment. "And most importantly- I now see the person I'd have to become to stop him. It's a side of me I do not want to show to anyone- certainly not to someone like you…"

Tony now realized just how deeply this issue had cut into Ziva. It was clear that no matter what was said or done, she was just going to continue blaming herself for this whole situation. Tony was _not_ looking forward to that; it had been hard enough seeing Gibbs do it. It caused him a hell of a lot of pain to see her this way, but it also made him angry; angry that she was going to let some pathetic piece of trash with no soul make her believe that _she_ was the soul-less, cold-blooded killer. Well, she was a _hell_ of a lot more human than that bastard was, and thinking that she may actually believe him made him want to punch something as hard as he could- preferably Asher Ballack's face.

She gave a low sigh and turned away from him. "Look Tony, I know Gibbs told you to bring me here for the night but I think it would be best if I…"

"Oh no, you don't!" Tony placed a firm hand on her shoulder as she started to get off the bed. "There's no way in _hell_ I'm going to give Gibbs a reason to give me a head slap, indestructible skull or not! You've been on the go for the last twenty-four hours and if you go off trying to play the big bad assassin like this, the only thing you'll get for it is punch through the heart courtesy of Ballack. And it _will_ happen because unlike him you _do_ have a heart; a big one."

Ziva stared at him; though she wasn't sure she wanted to admit it, it was comforting for him to be nearby her. After all the times she had relied on no one but herself, she could honestly say that this was one time she didn't want to object fully to opening up to someone else.

And yet still she he resisted. "Tony, I don't want to drag you into my affairs any more than I have to. I am a trained assassin; I have been looking out for myself all of my life. I do not need to come falling into your arms whenever I have the slightest problem."

"I'm not asking," Tony said quietly. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you're human. You're probably more human than most people I know. That's why you can't do this by yourself. You're not going to face your demons alone Ziva; I won't let that happen. Whatever happens, we'll do it as a team- _together_…"

Ziva stared into his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. If there was ever a time she needed to trust someone, it was now. And she couldn't think of a better person than her partner.

Tony gently lay her down onto the mattress, resting her head back on the pillow. He started to get up to leave her alone, but was stopped when she gently took hold on his shoulder. Looking down, she saw her smiling up at him. "I think now would be as good a time as ever to start with that trust," she said quietly.

Tony gave a small smile and slowly lowered himself down beside her. She leaned over, rested her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. As he pressed his body closer to hers, she murmured quietly, "_Toda_, Tony- for everything…"

***

Gibbs sat in his basement, staring at the structure of unfinished boat. Even though it was only 5:15 am, he felt wide-awake and ready to go. An old Marine tradition, he supposed. Catch a few hours sleep, and then go off into life or death scenarios. Some things just never died.

His cell phone rang unexpectedly, drawing him out of his thoughts. He picked it up and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"_Gibbs_?"

He straightened up. "Abby? Is everything alright?"

"_Everything's fine Gibbs; in fact, things may be better than they have been in a long time_."

"Talk to me Abs; I can't read your mind."

"_It shocks me that you'd actually admit that, but it doesn't matter. I'm calling to tell you that I think I may have found the solution to our rogue terrorist problem_."

"Wait a minute Abs- are you at NCIS? I thought I told you to go home until eight hundred."

"_I know, and I swear I was going to! But then I got an idea; well actually, two ideas, but both of them are going to rock your world!"_

"Abby…"

"_Right, right. Anyway, first of all, I'm sure I've finally found the link between Ballack and Russikov, and it's not that look of pure lust she shot at him when she helped the bastard escape. I believe I know what their grand scheme for the restructuring of the world is and I'm almost certain I know how they're going to do it!_"

Gibbs waited impatiently. "Well? Anytime you're ready Abs!"

"_You're going to have to come down here to find it; I'd rather you not be driving when you find out what it is. Your handling of a heavy vehicle is hectic enough as it is._"

Gibbs ground his teeth in frustration, but decided to let it go- for the time being. "Okay. What's the other thing you've found?"

"_Hold onto your socks boss man, because I have just hit the jackpot! It's bigger than the lottery! It's bigger than Slipknot's latest album! It's_…"

"Abby!" Gibbs practically shouted. "What do you have?"

"_Oh, nothing much really._" The Goth's tone was nowhere near as calm as she made it out to be.

"_It's just that- I think I've discovered something we could use as an effective weapon against one Asher Ballack…_"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!!**


	28. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

At approximately 8:05 am, Tony and Ziva stepped through the doors of Abby's lab, looks of both excitement and determination on both their faces. It was hardly surprising; Gibbs had phoned them right before they had arrived at NCIS with Abby's new revelations. Ziva, understandably, was more taken in by the news, but her initial shock had momentarily turned to frustration and anger when Gibbs informed them that he had been in possession of this news for more than two hours. For a second, Tony, who had been watching Ziva express her frustration at Gibbs over the phone while driving them to NCIS, was more than slightly concerned that they would end up wrapped around a pole before they actually managed to find out the news in question. It was indeed fortunate that Gibbs apparently decided to hang up on Ziva before she fully devoted her attention to him, leaving her with no choice but to concentrate on the drive- which was substantially shortened after the team leader's phone call.

The two agents were indeed surprised when they reached NCIS at the low level of damage the building had suffered. In the heat of the moment during initial attack, it had seemed like there had been a lot more chaos and destruction done to actual structure, but when they approached it in the parking lot- after going through extra tight security clearances- they were surprised to find that most of the actual structure was still intact. There was noticeable damage done to the upper floor, but the power was still on and most of the systems were back online.

Upon entering Abby's lab, they were also surprised at the lack of fire damage done by the recent blaze, but quickly realized that since the fire had been burning a flammable chemical instead of actual lab equipment and the sprinkler system had activated very quickly, there was minimal harm done to the room itself or the machines within it.

Abby and Gibbs were both standing in the centre of the room, leaning against a table next to one of the lab rat's many computers; neither Tony nor Ziva were entirely sure which this one's purpose was. Regardless, it didn't seem to matter much; both of their colleagues immediately set upon them the second they stepped into the room.

"Ziva!" Abby raised an eyebrow and gave a small grin. "You're still in one piece! I _told_ Gibbs that he shouldn't have called you while you were driving down here! Your driving is even worse than his; that's the reason I made him wait until he got here before he heard the major news."

"You needed to be aware of the situation as quickly as possible." Gibbs added, and there was no mistaking the grim tone in his voice. "Abby's made a few discoveries in the past few hours. One could be very good news if it turns out to be accurate. The other," he turned towards the scientist, "is very important to know, but certainly not something to rejoice about."

"I wasn't rejoicing!" Abby quickly said. "I was merely happy that we finally may have a grasp on what our two terrorists are planning and…"

"_May_?" It was Ziva who spoke- more than just a little aggressively. "Abby, this is not a matter that we can afford to rely on mere possibility! If there is even the slightest doubt that this information is inaccurate…"

"Hey, hey!" Tony put his hand on her shoulder. "Take it easy, Ziva! If it were inaccurate, Gibbs wouldn't be standing here with an obscenely impatient look on his face. He doesn't deal with anything inaccurate- therefore whatever Abby found is likely dead on target!"

One narrowed-eyes look from his partner quickly had Tony pulling his hand away from her. Even though he was glad to see Ziva back in her usual form, her attitude from the moment that Gibbs had phoned them with the news was more than just slightly intimidating, and Tony got the idea that if he wanted to keep his hand, he'd keep it well away from her- at least for the time being.

"He's right, Ziva." Abby responded. "If it weren't important, Gibbs wouldn't be in such a good mood right now. And I would be in the hospital right now, lauding over McGee. Since that's clearly not the case right now, you can take that as a sign that we're finally getting a leg up on Mr. Save-the-World and his Ice Bitch Queen."

If Gibbs had any reproach towards Abby for her colourful description of the current NCIS Two Most Wanted, he didn't show it. Instead, he merely said, "Tell them what you've already told me, Abs."

"Where do you want me to start?" The Goth questioned. "Do you want me to start with the may-be-good-news-but-in-actuality-may-not-the-news-you-were-hoping-for news or the really, really, _really_ bad-news-that-threatens-the-entire-world news?"

"There's a difference?" Tony was noticeably overwhelmed and confused.

"Of course there's a difference! If you wanted to get rocked off your socks by a massive, devastating blow, and then get hit with something that's more like an adorable love tap but still knocks you on your ass, then I'll be glad to help you. Otherwise…"

"Abby." Gibbs interrupted. "Start with the news that may actually help us."

"Got it bossman." Abby turned towards her computer. "Well, as you all probably have figured out by now, Ziva's ex-partner has had a few _upgrades_ done to him in the last few years. Enhanced strength, supersonic speed, a look in his eyes that makes you want to take the sharpest, most badass blade that you have and use it to cut off his…"

"Abby."

"Right. Anyway, my point is you _can't_. Why not, you ask? Well because the little experiment that he was a part of back then also gave him the ability to heal from just about any injury, sickness or disease. He essentially became an indestructible super soldier, able to withstand anything that was thrown, shot or sprayed onto him."

"We know this already, Abby." Ziva said impatiently. "I saw the extent of his healing power first foot."

"First_hand_, Ziva." Tony corrected. He quickly recoiled at the death glare he received from the other three.

"Of course you do. If you didn't, I'd wonder if your Mossad observation skills were getting rusty. But that's beside the point. What's important is that I decided to test the complexity of _Hellstorm_," she said the name with obvious distaste, "against the old reliability of Abby Sciuto's Prized Babies 5000. And what did I discover?" She gave a small grin. "That the alleged 'saviour of humanity' isn't as mighty as it tries to be!"

"What do you mean?"

"I ran a few special tests on the blood sample from the knife we recovered from the…" She looked over at Ziva. "Well, that you used to stab Ballack with. When I originally analyzed it, the healing factor of Hellstorm decimated any chemical I added to it within seconds. That was extremely frustrating to me at the time. But a few hours ago, I took a closer look at the biological properties of the serum in the blood sample; I won't bore you with the scientific details, but when I examined it, I noticed several flaws in the bio-chemical structure."

That caught Ziva's attention. She raised an eyebrow at Abby and said, "Flaws?"

"Exactly. The genetic code that stabilizes the serum and makes it completely impervious to external factors is incomplete. I'm no conniving CIA scientist, but my best guess is that it is a failsafe system designed by the late Barry Goldstein- in case the subject ever needed to be stopped forcibly. Clearly no one's ever thought to use that in the last three years."

"So how does this help us?" Tony asked.

"I was able to get a clear picture of how the bio-chemical structure links together in order to form the genetic code of the serum. It was actually much easier than I imagined. Oh, don't get me wrong! The actual _creation_ of it was extremely complex- beyond even my comprehension. However, the _re-creation_ of it is far less difficult; anyone in my position could do as easily as studying every inch of the human genetic code. And as a result," Abby grinned and reached behind the computer, "the 'saviour of humanity' may be 'saved' after being given a taste of his own medicine!"

She brought her hand up to her chest. Clutched within its grasp was a large syringe made of near indestructible plastic with a capped needle. In the depths of the syringe, shining in the lab's ceiling light was a bright orange liquid…

There were a series of sharp intakes of breath that penetrated the silence. Ziva stared at the syringe in Abby's hand; her eyes opened wider and she could feel her heart beating through her chest. Tony swallowed hard and took a small unconscious step away from the lab rat. "Is…is that what I think it is?" he asked in an uncertain tone.

_Thwack!_ Gibbs' sharp head slap quickly brought the ex-cop back to his senses. "Right boss! Of course it is!"

"Tony may be right to be cautious, Gibbs." Ziva looked at the team leader. "If that is indeed the Hellstorm serum, then what purpose can we possibly use it for?"

"Gee Ziva, do you think that might possibly be one of the first things I asked Abby when she told me about it?" Gibbs' asked sarcastically. "You think I may have wondered exactly what her intentions were when she re-created possibly the most destructive weapon of mass destruction in history?"

"There was method behind my madness." Abby replied evenly. "And it's all related to science. When I examined the bio-chemical structure, I discovered the flaws that were present have introduced a measure of instability in the actual serum itself. Hellstorm is powerful, but it is not completely impervious to external forces. As a matter of fact, it is vulnerable to itself in the right amount."

"What are you talking about Abs?" Tony asked.

"While the serum is designed to counteract the effects of any other toxin, it is not designed to do the same thing to itself. While small doses will temporarily increase the subject's strength to an even greater extent than they already are, too much will overload their system. Simply put- if the amount of Hellstorm that is in this syringe were to be injected into a living subject which already has the presence of Hellstorm in its system," she raised her head higher, "then this bad boy right here would essentially act as a poison."

Ziva and Tony exchanged glances. On their minds was the exact same thing.

"So," Ziva said slowly, "are you saying that if we were to inject that amount of serum into Asher," she looked directly into her eyes, "it would kill him…?"

Abby quickly shook her head. "No, it wouldn't."

"Hold on a second Abs." Tony raised his hand. "I thought you said that this thing could potentially _help_ us. But now you're saying that…"

"It _will_ help us Tony; you just didn't let me finish my grand presentation."

"Any time you're ready to skip right to the end, Abs, would be very much appreciated." It was Gibbs who spoke this time.

"Patience, bossman- it's not like you were any less patient when I first told you. There was a reason I didn't want you driving when you found out."

There was noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker from Tony. Gibbs' knowing eyes met Ziva's and without hesitation she delivered a head slap of her own to her partner. The ex-cop immediately came back to attention.

"Thank you." Abby said. "Now to answer your questions, Miss Kill-A-Man-With-A-Paperclip and Sir Snickers-A-Lot, no- the amount in this syringe wouldn't actually be enough to _kill_ him. I don't know _how_ much you would need to do that, but it would have to be a _hell_ of a lot more than this. However, the amount here _would_ be enough to weaken him. For how long, I don't know, but it would temporarily weaken his enhanced physical abilities and slow down his healing factor. It would give us a temporary chance against him."

"Maybe," Tony murmured, "but actually managing to get that shot into him won't be nearly so easy."

Abby shook her head. "Not in the slightest. I've looked into every possible way of administrating the serum to Ballack. The only way you're going to be able to get a direct hit on him is injecting it into to him by hand…"

"Forget it." Gibbs said abruptly. "After seeing firsthand what Ballack is capable of in close combat quarters, there is no way in hell I'm letting anyone get near him."

"We may not have a choice boss." Tony interjected. "I mean, look at the amount that's going to be needed just for one shot. It's not like you can coat it onto a bullet and shoot him with it."

"You think I'd need bullets to stop him DiNozzo? Marine training provides you with a few tricks that nobody else can see coming until its too late for them."

"Not that I doubt your ability to make an impact boss, but…"

"I will do it."

Ziva's voice silenced every other one in the room. With her three co-workers staring at her, she went on: "This entire situation started with me; it is my responsibility to end it and I will. If anyone is going to stop Ballack once and for all, it is going to be me- whatever that may take."

"That's not your decision to make Ziva." Gibbs said firmly.

Ziva stared back at the ex-sniper every bit as intensely. "It is when it is my life that is the one being targeted by a rogue soldier. There is no reason for the rest of you to endanger your lives because one man is determined to make me suffer beyond imagination. So if you would not mind handing that syringe over, Abby…" She reached for the object in the Goth's hand, but was beaten to the punch by Gibbs.

"I think until we come to a consensus on what should be done with this thing," the team leader quickly took it from Abby's hand, "it's going to be staying with me- far away from being used on any known terrorist." He set it down on the table next to him.

Ziva cast a disapproving eye towards him; Gibbs didn't seem to notice as he turned back to the lab rat. "Besides, we have bigger problems to worry about than conducting a field lab test."

"Bigger problems?" Tony questioned.

Gibbs stared at Abby, who upon feeling his eyes on her immediately realized what he was talking about. "Oh, yeah! Um… I hate to break it to you Ziva," she looked over at her Israeli friend, "but I'm afraid that your bastard ex-partner may not have been lying when he said that his so-called 'movement towards global stability' would be unstoppable."

Ziva sharply drew in a breath. "Why do you say that?"

"Because of the person he is associating with." Abby turned towards the computer. "You yourself said that it made no sense that Ballack would team up with the CEO of a large and powerful oil company when he was so vehemently opposed to large corporations, right? I mean, technically you're right; it makes no sense. There had to be a specific reason for it."

Ziva nodded. "When I asked him about it, he said that Russikov had the capabilities to manufacture the Hellstorm serum on a large scale. I assumed that whatever he was planning required a significant amount of the drug in order to be effective."

"Obviously." Gibbs interrupted. "But did you ever ask yourself as to what _exactly_ Ballack was planning- why he would need such a large amount of it?"

"I…" Ziva faltered slightly. "I did attempt to figure it out. But with everything that has happened since Asher's escape, I have been a little… distracted."

"It's not her fault boss." Tony added quickly. "We've all been slightly off since this whole thing started."

"Do you think being 'off' is an acceptable excuse for allowing an act of terrorism to happen DiNozzo?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"So don't bother offering it." Gibbs turned back to Abby. "We have very little time Abs; we need information right now if we're going to stop these two."

"Right. Well, to cut a long and interesting narrative short, I conducted a series of tests on the Hellstorm serum I whipped up, and what I found was that one of the key chemical properties it possessed was being highly susceptible to flammability and combustion."

"And?" Ziva prompted.

"Consider mixing Hellstorm with a substance that is equally as flammable as itself; something which can cause a massive explosion with just the tiniest of sparks." Abby's face as well as her voice was dead serious.

"You mean something like…" Ziva's voice trailed off for a moment, "_oil_…"

Abby nodded. "It'd be just like setting off two equally powerful bombs side by side at the exact same time. Except for the fact that the force of the blast would be much, _much_ greater."

"How powerful are we talking Abs?" Gibbs asked.

Abby turned her dead serious face towards him. "You know the devastation caused by the two nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War II?" She nodded. "Think of a blast _ten times more powerful_ than those two combined- that's the minimum damage it'll cause."

"My God…" Tony's face was one of pure shock. "An explosion like that would destroy the entire city."

"Not just that…" Ziva's face paled suddenly. "The explosion would likely act in the same manner as that of nuclear explosion if you are correct in your assumptions Abby. A giant mushroom cloud would be produced, propelling everything along with it into the atmosphere." She turned towards the stunned faces of her colleagues. "Hellstorm would be released into the ozone layer just above the Earth's surface; if what Asher said was true, then with its capabilities… it could spread around the entire world in mere hours. It… it would affect everyone- anyone exposed to it; the ultimate judge of who is worthy and who is not to remain alive in the world. He…" she looked up wide-eyed at them, "he's going to try to 'save' the world by killing about 99% of the world's population."

Abby let out a very audible gasp and clasped a hand over her mouth. Tony actually stumbled backwards into a desk out of shock. Trying to remain the anchor of stability amidst this massive wave of horrific news even though he himself was shocked and stunned, Gibbs spoke in an authoritative voice. "Well I sure as hell am not going to sit around and wait for that to happen. If Ballack and Russikov think they're going to play God with the entire world, they're going to be for a very big and painful surprise."

"But _how_ are you going to do that?" Tony said in a voice that reflected the level of horror he'd just been exposed to. "I mean if what Abby said is true, then they could detonate that thing _anywhere_ in this city! The explosion would be enough to wipe out all of DC in a split second! And we'd be caught right in the middle of the damn thing! How are we going to…?" The senior field agent ran out of breath, an empty silence filling the void. It was as if the pronouncement of Armageddon had just been made and everyone was standing around trying to get their head around it, wondering what they ought to be doing while waiting for the end to come.

Whatever anyone was planning to say, if anything, to interrupt this foreboding feeling was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing. After a moment's confusion, Gibbs realized it was his own. Digging it out of his pocket he flipped it open. "Yeah, Gibbs."

"_Gibbs?_" A middle-aged man's voice came through to his ear. "_It's McCrae. You asked me to look into Natalya Russikov and call you if I discovered anything useful?_"

Gibbs came to attention. "Did you find something?"

"_Yeah but I'm not sure how helpful it will be to you right now. First of all, you were right about Russikov; she has quite a few friends high up in your government. Half of them are on a first name basis with her. I'm guessing that's why she's able to move around so easily in this country with very little restriction_."

"That's not helpful to me McCrae." Gibbs said impatiently. "I need something I can work with."

"_Then you should also know that because of these connections, a couple of senators have personally given to her as a loan personal access to and control of a large cargo train for her oil transfers. It's based at one of her storage yards about seven miles from where her oil facility was until yesterday._"

"Give me a second." He turned to Abby. "Abs, I need you to pinpoint the location of a storage facility within a seven mile radius of the old AISSEX facility. If it's not owned by the company, it's probably owned by Russikov herself." He went back to talking with McCrae. "What can you tell me about this storage facility? How much capacity could it hold?"

"_I'm not sure of the total amount, but if you want a guess I'd have to say at least a hundred barrels of oil. Maybe two hundred. I can't say for certain, but however much it is, it would be a definite substantial amount. Why? Is this good news for you?"_

"I'm not sure if I'd call it _good_ news McCrae," Gibbs sighed. "But its more news than I had just a minute ago. Thanks a lot."

As he hung up the phone, there was a beep from the computer Abby had been typing on. "Aha!" The Goth looked up triumphantly. "Got it! Natalya Russikov was given loan of private cargo train that runs right past her storage facility. I can give you the coordinates of the facility itself, but something tells me it's the train we should be more interested in." She looked up towards the team leader. "You thinking what I'm thinking Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded slowly. "That Ballack is planning to use this train to transport at least a hundred barrels of oil mixed with Hellstorm to some part of the city and then blowing it sky high? Yeah, that'd be my guess too." He drew himself up. "Well, at least now we've gotten something definite. We can be at the facility in about fifteen minutes if we leave right now. That may just give us the chance to…"

Turning around, the ex-sniper suddenly stopped short when he realized that he and Abby were the only ones in the room. "Abby? Did you see or hear Ziva and DiNozzo leave the room?"

Abby turned around with a confused look on her face. "Uh, no Gibbs- I didn't hear anything. I mean, I wouldn't expect to hear Ziva leave- she's trained never to be heard after all- but I didn't know Tony had picked up that particular skill of hers."

Gibbs furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes past over the room, looking for any clue which may give him an idea as to what had caused his two best field agents to suddenly leave without telling him. His eyes stopped as he surveyed the table that was right next to him.

The same table he'd set the syringe filled with Hellstorm onto.

Only now, the syringe was gone.

Ziva's words came back to Gibbs' mind:

_This entire situation started with me; it is my responsibility to end it…_

Son of a-

Letting out a cry of anger, Gibbs spun around and stormed towards the stairs, leaving a startled Abby behind. "Gibbs?"

"Call all available NCIS field operatives!" He shouted back. "Tell them to get their asses to the storage facility on the double! And I mean _every_ one of them!"

"Where are you going?" But even though the team leader had already disappeared up the steps, she knew where he'd be going.

Gibbs swore to himself as he took the stairs two at a time.

'Damn it Ziva, if you and DiNozzo aren't alive when I get to that facility, you going to be _wishing_ Ballack got a hold of you…"

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! Just FYI, this update is probably going to be the last one till the end of April- university exams… As a consolation, know that the next few chapters are going to be EXCITING and VERY interesting! Of course, a few reviews might speed the process along…**


	29. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

"Okay, Zee-vah- I know you're determined to catch this guy and all, but why in the _hell_ did you have to drag me into your insane plan?"

Tony, half-occupied with creeping stealthily through the front yard of the storage facility with his weapon drawn, making his way past a series of large metal containers, was stage-whispering as he followed his partner through the maze towards the long, single floor building.

"I did not drag you into anything Tony." She replied in the same tone. "I merely pointed out to you that it was in your best interest to stop an act of terrorism before it potentially wiped out the entire world."

Tony, temporarily stunned by the almost casual way she said the last part of her sentence, replied, "Pointing out? You practically guaranteed that if I didn't follow you every step of the way, you'd kill me in a horribly painful way with one of your fingers!"

"Not true." She said. "I merely suggested to you that I once had to cause an uncooperative terrorist some discomfort with one finger in order to get him to cooperate."

"That's practically the same thing! And anyway, that's _assuming_ we actually get through this alive! In case you haven't noticed, we have no backup. I mean, sneaking off without bringing Gibbs along- ah, damn it, Gibbs is gonna kill us! Unless we're already dead, in which case he'll resurrect us and _then_ kill us! Course, he'll probably kill you first for not listening to his lecture on not going after supercharged terrorists alone, then he'll kill me for allowing myself to be talked into this. Actually considering the fact that _you_ more or less threatened to kill me, he may decide to-"

"Tony!" Ziva spun around and fixed him with a dangerous look in her eye. "If you do not shut up, Asher may just move down to the _second_ person I most want to kill today…"

The threat made itself very clear, and there was no more added commentary as the NCIS agents cautiously made their way towards the storage facility. The area in front of the building was relatively large and widespread, but was littered everywhere with large metal containers- probably used for transporting oil drums from trucks to the building itself. It required careful navigation, especially taking into account the definite possible escape route in the back; a railway ran past the building on the southern side. If Asher was indeed planning to use Russikov's private cargo train for his plan, they it'd be best if they didn't leave anything to chance.

After about a minute, the pair found themselves walking into a clearing in the yard, surrounded by metal crates on all sides. Ziva immediately perked her ears up even more; it was situations like this that were the most dangerous to come across.

Her hearing, tuned to pick up even the tiniest of sounds, immediately locked on to a sound coming from the far end of the square. She immediately swung her weapon towards the noise, with Tony quickly catching on and following her example.

A figure came forth from behind one of the crates into the edge of the square. A rather small figure, hunched over, shuffling haltingly forward. Hidden for just a brief moment in the shadow, it stepped forward into the slightly cloud-covered sun light, revealing the pale-skinned figure of none other than the CEO of AISSEX herself.

"Natalya Russikov!" Ziva shouted, keeping her weapon locked on the Russian. "Stop right there!"

If Natalya had heard the voice of the Mossad agent, she gave no indication of having done so. Dressed in the same golden-coloured dress and necklace as they had seen her wearing on the television monitor the previous day, the look of cool pleasure and sophistication she had previously had was gone. Replacing it was a look of pure; her arms clasped tightly around her stomach, her face contorted with agony, her words came out in short, pained gasps. "_Why_?" Her voice sounded every bit as pained as her face looked. "Everything I've done- everything I've sacrificed- all of it was for _you_…"

Ziva and Tony exchanged confused glances while they kept their weapons trained on the CEO. Though they were the only others in the area, it was fairly clear that Natalya wasn't talking to them. Nor did it seem very likely she was muttering to herself- vain as she was. Even though they knew her to be a highly opportunistic individual, her pain and suffering appeared to be very real. Something wasn't right about this.

Then, as clearly as if being spoken through a loudspeaker very near to them, came an all-too familiar voice. "_Ziva! How nice of you to join us._"

Ziva's head jerked up. "Asher!" She raised her gun, her eyes darting around as though trying to locate the traitorous ex-JTF2 agent.

"_Don't worry,_" the Canadian's voice radiated around the area. "_Your long and impossible mission is almost at its end. Hellstorm is on the eve of its international unveiling_. _Six billion cries of agony will burn the world into a new age of stability and peace._"

Ziva felt a wash of white-hot rage flow through her. "You will never succeed in doing that Asher!" She shouted. "Not as long as _I_ am still alive!"

"_Unfortunately, it's already far too late for you. You have rejected your only means of survival in this global purge, and now you will join the tiny insignificant masses as they perish under the foot of a true god's power. You will not live to see another moon rise._"

Stumbling into the centre of the square, Natalya dropped to her knees, her hands pressed against the ground as she struggled to speak through the pain. "Asher!" She cried. "I thought you said we would change the world and rule it together- side by side! I- I loved you! _Why_?!"

Inside the storage building, Asher raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. He couldn't help but see the irony. _Love_? It was that foolish attitude of hers that got her into the situation she was in now…

***

**Five minutes prior…**

_Asher strode towards the television monitor at the front of the main office. Linked up to the surveillance camera out front, he watched as an NCIS van screeched to a halt in front of the entrance to the front storage area. His lips creased as he watched Ziva and Tony jump out of the vehicle and move at a fast-move stealthy pace into the area, Ziva in front as usual._

_He had expected NCIS to track him down again eventually- he just figured it wouldn't take them as quickly as it did. The group was beginning a real annoyance to him- especially the ones that had just appeared on the scene._

"_Don't you two ever tire of failing your objectives?" He murmured at the screen. DiNozzo was clearly more adept than any of Ziva's old partners. She was likely starting to rub off on the former cop._

_Then again, she had rubbed off on _him_ a great deal as well, Asher knew. He had survived everything she had thrown at him with ease. The Mossad officer had trained him well- perhaps a little _too_ well for her own sake._

_The sound of the door opening and a throat clearing brought his attention to the doorway behind him. Natalya stood there, pointing to her watch, indicating it was almost time to begin the final step in their journey._

_Asher turned back and stared straight ahead. His forearms, uncovered without his trench coat, rested at his sides. In a clear, neutral voice he asked, "Is everything prepared with the train?"_

_Natalya nodded, coming up beside him. "My workers finished loading the drums into the cars ten minutes ago. All that remains now is your order and it will be off."_

_He gave a curt nod. "The final stage in my world vision is nearly at hand. Hellstorm would infect every living soul on the planet; those whom it judges worthy of existence will become stronger and faster; those whom it doesn't… will be eliminated."_

_Natalya gave a seductive grin. "And you and I will be at the centre of it. The entire world at our disposal- true gods ruling with a supreme army of Hellstorm super soldiers at our command." She gently placed a hand on his abdomen, running her fingers over his hardened stomach muscles. "I cannot think of a better person to have by my side."_

_She moved her hand over his abs, slowly running it down towards his pelvis, when the Canadian said abruptly, "Why did you aim at the first floor of NCIS during your little helicopter intervention?"_

_Surprised, Natalya drew back quickly. "What do you mean Asher?"_

"_If you had truly wanted to strike a blow at the heart of your enemy," Asher said in the previous neutral tone, "you should have struck at the laboratory in the basement. Their capabilities largely rest in that area- their means of tracking us and putting a stop to our plan lay in there- and yet you neglected to target it. Do you want this operation to fail Natalya?"_

_Her eyes grew wide. "No! I…" she fumbled, "I did not want to risk your own safety Asher! I knew they would likely be keeping you in the Interrogation area in the basement area, and I did not want to risk impeding your ability to escape their custody any more than necessary. What I did was purely for you- for us!"_

_Asher gave a slight sigh. Then, slowly, he raised his hands up to his face and slid off his sunglasses. Natalya suddenly felt slightly alarmed; worried that he might harm her. But instead he merely laid them to rest on the table in front of him. Leaning forward and putting his hands on the table, he murmured, "If you hadn't acted as you did, it's likely NCIS would have tracked down this facility sooner. Your actions probably bought us some time."_

_A relieved look came over Natalya's face and she let out a held-in breath. "Yes! Of course it did! You know me Asher- I would never endanger our operation due to carelessness!" _

_The look of seduction came back onto her face. "And since you are so interested in my ability to 'aim' properly, perhaps it is time that I proved to you exactly how accurate I am when I have my eyes on an objective."_

_She placed her hand onto his upper torso and ran her fingers over his chest, taking in the pleasure of the feeling of lust and desire it gave her. Far too often she had been on the receiving end of lust and desire herself, but she had always dismissed them since none of them were worthy of her time. It was indeed both strange and pleasurable to be on the giving side of that feeling for a change._

_***_

_Asher was tired._

_Tired of everything. Of endless life without living. Of seeing everything around him be corrupted to the point of self-destruction with each passing day. Of being able to taste the air around him without actually experiencing it. Hellstorm had given him everything he could possibly want- and still it was not enough._

_His plan for Ziva- his desire to get her to see past the corruption she had been taught and join him in his quest to save the world- had not gone the way he'd hoped. He wouldn't call it a failure- he would never accept failure- but it was a disappointment. She was the one person who could have understood what he was doing was necessary; after all that was what she had been taught. But it seemed the weak, corrupt characters of NCIS had influenced her more than he'd anticipated. She no longer looked past her own sentimental views and saw the larger picture. It was yet another burden on him; that as well as having to contend with the personal views and goals of his wealthy asset._

"_Ziva's interference is becoming annoyingly a little too frequent." He said in the same cool, neutral tone. "It seems that the only way to get anything done these days is to do it yourself." He drew himself up. "I am really going to enjoy tearing her limb from limb."_

"_You really hate her, do you not?" Natalya questioned._

"_Hate her?" Asher's voice showed no emotional reaction to her question. "No. I don't hate her. I'm beyond hating. I'm beyond feeling any type of emotion that would be felt by a human being- except the ones that tear at what one might call the soul of a person. There is no such thing as a soul- a soul is merely a fabrication of the weakness of humanity. So what I feel is nothing more than a burning necessity in my blood- a burning realization. I don't hate Ziva." He raised his head up higher. "I despise her."_

"_For turning her back on you?"_

_Asher hesitated a moment before answering. "For her blindness and her standing in the way of the inevitable."_

"_She is a fool."Natalya said dismissively. "A little charlatan who does not know a good opportunity when she sees it. She prefers to meander to the weak and fight the pointless struggle." She raised an eyebrow. "Now _I_ on the other hand know _exactly_ what I want, and I do not accept anything other the strongest and the best. I am fully ready to embrace the experience of it- every single day of my life as a goddess-with _you_…"_

_Asher slowly turned and stared at her. Even though the darkness in his eyes seemed to block out any feeling he may have, she was still drawn to it; that sense of darkness and danger that seemed envelop him. It suited her own desires- the lack of rules and restrictions._

"_Natalya…" he spoke in a low tone, and the Russian quickly came to attention, "do you remember me asking you when I first offered you your chance to control the entire world's oil supply if you wanted to join my side in the new world order?"_

_The CEO's eyes immediately widened and she gave a quick nod of the head. Asher went on in the same voice, "I have to admit I wasn't sure when I made the offer if I was doing the right thing. Technically, you are the head of one of the biggest sources of corruption on the planet; I wasn't sure if you could be trusted with such an important operation." He raised one of his gloved hands and slowly ran it down her cheek. "But it appears I was wrong- you have been very reliable and trustworthy." He took her chin in his hand. "And I believe that the time has come to show you exactly what my decision is."_

_With that, he pressed his lips against her own. Momentarily surprised, she quickly returned the kiss, engulfing his mouth with her own. Her wandering hands immediately caressed his arms, his back before moving up towards his face. The feeling of pleasure went racing through her body; she felt her heartbeat increase significantly and a thin blanket of sweat broke out over her arms. It was an experience she had never felt before on such a large scale. If this was the beginning of her role as leader of the new world, she was going to be enjoying herself _very_ much. The lust and passion she yearned for would be satisfied every day with him- every time she yearned for pleasure beyond her imagination, he would be there to-_

_Her thoughts were suddenly cut short by a sharp pain in her stomach. Breaking away from the Canadian, she let out a cry of pain and looked down just in time to see Asher slide a cap onto the needle part of a small empty syringe. Momentarily taken in by shock, she heard his gravelly, neutral voice: "Perhaps Hellstorm will find you a worthy candidate for the new world."_

_She raised her head quickly, her eyes wide- this time with fear and horror. His face completely indifferent, he spoke in her native tongue._

"_Cena__ spasenija__ chasto platitsja v krovi_."

The price of salvation is often paid in blood_._

_He turned back towards the table and retrieved his sunglasses. Natalya started to take a step towards him but stopped short when a sharp wave of pain soared through her abdomen, doubling her over. When she tried to straighten up, another cramp ripped through her stomach muscles, and she let out a sharp cry and clasped her hands around her midsection. _

"_The price of becoming a god," Asher went on as he slid his shades onto his face, "is that everything you come to embrace in the world- every bit of feeling you've every experienced- is destroyed in an instant. The ability to love is torn from your body, leaving you with only a complete indifference to anything projected onto you. While keeping my disinterest in your affections as moderate as possible, it also became beneficial for me to play into your desires slightly. And now, as measure of appreciation, I'm going to let you do one last favour for me."_

_He took hold of her arm in a firm, though not overly manner, and led her trembling, agonized figure over to the front door. Her eyes grew wide again and she rapidly shook her head. "No…" She looked at him pleadingly. "No Asher, _please!_"_

_Without another word, the Canadian pulled open the door and semi-firmly pushed her out the door, closing it behind him._

_Walking over back towards the video screen, a small smile crept onto his face as he watched Tony and Ziva approach the square just in front of the building. He took position beside the microphone hooked up to the loudspeaker on the outside, his eyes zeroing in on Ziva's determined face._

'_Perhaps you should not have been so quick to throw away what was your lifeline in this revolutionary sea of salvation…"_

***

Natalya, still kneeling on the ground let out another cry of pain and started writhing in agony. Her eyes reflected the torment of someone with fire racing through their veins- excruciating and impossible to stop.

"I don't get it." Tony turned towards Ziva. "I thought for this operation, these two were supposed to be partners."

"_I_ was his partner at one point as well." Ziva growled. "Asher does not give a damn about anyone other than himself. He uses people when they have something he can exploit and then stabs them in the back when he has what he wants."

The sound of the Canadian's voice through the loudspeaker brought their attention back towards the building. "_Soon, even you in your naiveté will understand Ziva. One look at the world after I'm through with it and everything will be crystal clear."_

Ziva gritted her teeth. "Enough games!" she shouted. "Show yourself!"

"_Sadly for you, your time has already run out. The global purge of the world's corruption is on the verge of its commencement, and you are about to be caught up right in the middle of it."_

Natalya, seemingly oblivious to the communications going on around her, let out another agonized cry on the ground. "_Sorry Natalya,"_ Asher's indifferent voice directed towards the Russian, "_but it would seem that Hellstorm has rejected you. I guess you were not as suited to lead the world as you claimed to be. However, since you were such a useful asset, I have one final task for you. Show NCIS what happens to those whom Hellstorm judges to be unworthy._"

Ziva narrowed her eyes at the CEO. "_This is what your fellow Mossad compatriots have to look forward to very soon Ziva. A pity that you will have to join them in elimination; you could have been so much more useful as a soldier in the new world order. Farewell, old partner._"

Natalya jerked her head up, stared straight ahead, and shouted in a pained, agonized voice, "Asher, you _uród_!"

She threw her head back; her mouth opened up and a large red bloody mist shot through the air like a large cloud.

Tony's eyes instantly widened. "What the hell?!" He aimed his gun back at the Russian, with Ziva following suite.

The bloody mist soon came back down and covered the entirety of Natalya's face and the front of her dress. Her mouth remained open, though no sound came out of it. A low gurgling sound came from deep inside her throat, and her eyes remained plastered wide open. A small drop of red appeared at the corner of each of her eyes and at the edges of both nostrils, which soon began streaming down like tiny streams down her cheeks.

Tony stared in astonishment, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. Ziva gripped her gun tighter and took a deep breath. The two NCIS agents watched as the figure of Natalya Russikov, a bloody mess with red streams now leaking out of her eyes, her nose and her mouth, remained frozen in place for a second before slowly falling forward onto the ground, eyes still wide open in the unmistakable stare of the dead.

Ziva felt a growing sense of nausea in the pit of her stomach. Even though both agents had seen many bad things in their lives, this was by far one of the most graphic scenarios they'd witnessed. The body belonging to the late AISSEX CEO was now a twisted shell of its former self. Blood leaked out onto the ground, covering her porcelain face and surrounding her head, quickly painting the pavement in bright red.

Tony and Ziva both stared thunderstruck at the sight for a good few moments; the silence was finally broken by Tony's voice, sounding as though it were almost speaking unconsciously, "Okay- it's official; we're screwed."

Ziva started to turn towards him, intending on giving him a sharp reproach on his seemingly defeatist attitude, when her ears suddenly perked up again. Her head turned towards the back area behind the building, where the sound was coming from.

Tony heard it too and immediately recognized what it was. _Train engine- the crazy bastard's trying to leave!_

Apparently her partner recognized this fact as well. Ziva's head snapped towards him and she said, "Quick! We have to get to the train before it leaves!"

The Mossad officer took off running past the body of Russikov towards the back area of the crates, with Tony close behind. Rather than go into the actual building, Ziva decided it would be quicker to cut through a small alleyway than ran parallel to the building. Racing through the narrow area, she quickly hopped over the small steel fence dividing the front section from the back. A second later Tony was making the same jump.

Ziva took a few steps forward and stopped abruptly. About fifteen yards away from her was the backend railway car attached to a series of other cargo train cars; the train was starting to pull away from the building, still going at a relatively slow pace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement, and whirling around saw the trench-coated figure of Asher, his back to the NCIS agents as he sprint-walked towards the back cargo car.

Ziva thought about shouting, but her body reacted unconsciously before her voice could find itself. She raised her gun up towards the Canadian's head.

Asher stopped for a second, as though he had sensed something was amiss, and then whirled around towards them. At the very same second, Ziva felt her trigger finger pull back.

_Bang._ A shot echoed throughout the air.

_Bang._ Another bullet exited the chamber and zoomed towards its intended target.

Asher had heard the footsteps behind him and had realized what was about to happen, but even with his superhuman speed he wasn't completely immune to every single physical attack.

The first bullet struck the right side of his neck, passing through and through and sending a spray of blood onto the right shoulder and upper arm parts of his coat.

The second bullet struck the left arm of his sunglasses just as his neck wound began to heal; the shades shattered at the screw, causing them to fall off his face and into his open left hand.

Staring down at them for a second, Asher looked up towards the pair, eyes blazing and a look of fury and anger on his face. With a savage grunt, he threw the shades violently to ground beside him and growled in a low, furious tone, "This is just the beginning, _Ziva_!"

He turned around, took one running step forward towards the moving train and then executed a massive jump into the air towards it. Landing on the roof of the back car, he began running down towards the front engine.

Tony came up to his partner's side. His eyes locked onto the train, he said, "Ziva, he's escaping. Hurry!"

Tony took off after the train, which was quickly gaining speed, racing down the tracks with Ziva right on his tail. Her small, agile figure was naturally built for speed and she appeared poised to overtake her more heavyset partner, when all of a sudden a dull pain started to throb in her thigh. The same thigh that Asher had thrown her own knife into about thirty-six hours previously- the same one which was now beginning to prevent her from running as fast as she needed to.

_No, no… not now!_

Tony ran with all his might in an effort to catch up to the train. His legs moved faster than he ever remembered in his life and his heart pounded in his ears as loud as a heavy metal drum. He silently thanked all the time he'd spent in the gym on the treadmill; running after a train on foot _had_ to fall under the category of 'extraordinary circumstances' that Gibbs occasionally spoke about as a reminder of keeping them in shape. If neither Ballack nor the boss killed him when this was all said and done, he'd definitely have to thank Gibbs for it.

Racing as though he were on the football field at OSU, he put on an extra burst of speed and, reaching up managed to catch hold of a steel post on the back of the car and with a renewed effort hoisted himself onto the train. Pausing a moment to catch his breath he turned around, and was astonished to see Ziva half-running, half limping towards him.

For a moment Tony wasn't sure what she was doing; then he remembered Ziva's leg injury in her first encounter with the Canadian. A knife wound like that just didn't heal overnight. Course, it didn't help that the time when it started to bother her again was also the time she was trying to catch a train containing a devastating weapon of mass destruction and a very pissed off super terrorist.

"Ziva!" Tony reached out his hand towards her. "Ziva, come on!"

Running as fast as she could possibly could, Ziva could feel the pain soar throughout her leg. She tried to ignore it and catch up to the car, but it seemed that with every step she took the train was going faster and faster. If she didn't catch it soon, she'd be left behind, and Tony would be alone with Asher.

Tony saw the combined expression of pain, desperation and worry on the face of his partner, as well as something else: doubt similar to the one he'd seen the previous night when she'd told him she didn't know if she could defeat Ballack. He'd be damned if she'd let herself fail- not when he'd seen just how good of a person she was compared to the self-proclaimed 'saviour of the world'.

"Come on Ziva!" He shouted again. "You can make it! Come on!"

His words seemed to be having an effect; even though the train was definitely going much faster now, it also seemed Ziva was getting closer to it. The look of doubt was fading away, replaced instead by greater determination. Tony inwardly smiled as she got nearer. _There's my ninja_.

The ex-cop felt the train shift gears and prepare to move into full speed; if Ziva didn't get on now, its likely she wouldn't be able to catch up to it all.

"Ziva, grab my hand!" Tony reached out as far as he possibly could without falling onto the tracks.

Ziva kicked into an extra high pace. She could see Tony's arm just a few metres away. If she could only get to it before the train sped away…

"Ziva!"

With a cry of desperation, Ziva launched herself forward in a do-or-die lunge and grabbed hold of Tony's hand. The senior field agent immediately pulled back, hauling both himself and the Israeli onto the back on the car. The two of them leaned against the metal door for a moment, breathing heavily in and out, trying to catch their breath.

Then Ziva turned a grateful face towards Tony. "Thank you, partner."

Tony gave a half-hearted grin and said breathlessly, "Does this mean you're going to want to cuddle up and rest your shoulder against me again, Oh Miss-Deadly-Assassin?"

Ziva merely rolled her eyes and pulled out her weapon; Tony eyed the gun nervously and she shook her head and said in a half exasperated, half light-hearted tone, "This isn't for you, My-Little-Hairy-Butt; it's for Asher. I have several friends in it that I think it is long past the time I introduced him to." She looked at her partner in the eye. "Let us finish this Tony- together."

Tony gave a genuine smile this time. "Right behind you, partner."

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review!!! The next chapter is going to be OFF THE CHARTS with action! Hit the green button if you want it sooner!**

**Note: '_uród' means 'bastard' in Russian._**


	30. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The train steadily picked up speed as it progressed down the track. As the two NCIS agents opened the door to the back car they quickly found themselves overwhelmed by the bright light that penetrated from the built-in ceiling lights in the roof. The measurements of the car were at least thirty yards long and about fifteen yards wide with large metal pillars lined up about ten metres from the sides. The right side of the car was dominated by two large sliding doors, presumably for loading. Interestingly enough, there was not a single barrel inside the car; presumably the others were filled to capacity and this one was just for backup in case it needed it.

Ziva and Tony both moved cautiously forward, guns pointed down towards the floor, as they crept forward into the car. There was silence for a moment after their entry, except for the low hum of the train's wheels against the tracks. Then they heard the sound of slightly heavy breathing from the other end of the car; the subsequent voice was not winded, but rather low and somewhat reflective.

"It appears I may have… _underestimated_ you, Ziva…"

Ziva clenched her jaw at the sound of her ex-partner's words. "Save your petty observations, Asher! It is over for you; you have no one left to help you now!"

There was a brief low chuckle from the other end of the car, and coming to a halt Tony and Ziva could see the figure of the Canadian crouched down beside the adjoining car door, the blood traces shining against his coat in the bright light, staring over at them.

"I don't _need_ anyone else." Asher raised his arm and gave what was for him a straight moderate punch into the steel door beside him; the metal caved in like a soda can, leaving behind a large indentation in the door. Slowly he got to his feet and the two agents quickly pointed their guns at him. Taking deep, audible breaths of air, Asher said slowly and almost growlingly, "I… have… _Hellstorm_!" His dark eyes flashed angrily as he drew himself to full height. "In just under five minutes, we'll have reached the strategically-designated area for detonation. The capital of the world's most corrupt state will disappear in a flash." He took a deep breath of air and took a few slow steps forward. "Hellstorm will be absorbed into the atmosphere, ensuring _absolute… worldwide… contamination…_"

The Canadian slowly turned his head to the side, his dark eyes staring furiously at the NCIS pair. He took another single deep breath through gritted teeth, as though preparing himself for something. Then, in the blink of an eye, he reared himself back just like he had done back in the warehouse battle and charged directly towards them.

Ziva and Tony barely caught sight of the dark blur coming at them at an unimaginable speed and just had time to fling themselves to the side right before impact. Ziva just barely was able jump back slightly and to the right; Asher's right fist and arm moved into the spot where she had been a quarter of a second earlier at such speed, she would have been impaled instantly had she not instinctively gotten out of the way. Unfortunately, the necessary dodge had caused both NCIS agents to lower their defensive positions and their weapons for a second. By the time Tony got his gun back up to the ready-to-shoot position, it was already too late to take a shot.

Asher immediately took two quick steps towards Ziva. In a single second he had grabbed Ziva's weapon hand with his right one, held it away from him so she couldn't fire and delivered two quick left blows to her; one of them was a shot to her right side that temporarily winded her; the other one which came half a second later was lifting palm blow right under her chin. Even though it was happening in the blink of an eye, Ziva could almost see it in slow motion as her head was pushed up forcefully. Gritting her teeth in pain, she could see Asher, still holding her right hand execute a spin move as her head moved back down to face forwards, putting himself in a position so that he was now in front of her. With her back now facing the far end of the car, Asher whirled around counter-clockwise and delivered a spinning left kick to Ziva's jaw. The Israeli went flying backwards several feet and skidded across the floor for about ten yards.

Asher immediately whirled around in the direction of Tony, who was at least ten feet away from him. As he whirled around, his left hand slid a weapon of his own from a shoulder holster under his jacket. Aiming it towards the senior field agent, he quickly squeezed off several shots; Tony quickly ducked behind one of the thin pillars lining the side of the car as the bullets clanged at the floor mere inches away from him.

Asher turned his attention back to Ziva and began walking slowly towards her, all while keeping a steady stream of suppressing fire on the pillar shielding Tony. "Your pathetic attempts merely postpone the inevitable."

Ziva had lifted her weapon towards the Canadian even before he had finished speaking and fired a shot. Though he made no visible move to do so, Asher was instantly to the right of the car, continuing to walk slowly towards her, leaving only a brief dark blur behind while continuing to fire his weapon towards Tony. Even without looking at him, the ex-JTF2 soldier seemed to have perfect accuracy. Ziva continued to fire, and Asher zipped back to the left of the car away from her second shot, moved again slightly to the left just out of range of her third shot, and back into the centre away from her fourth shot. Each and every time, he had made no visible attempt to move in the direction he 'zipped'; if Ziva didn't know what she was dealing with, she truly _would_ have said the Canadian was teleporting.

From behind the pillar, Tony tried to sneak a glance at Asher to see if he could get a shot off; another bullet from the Canadian's gun clanging on the pillar mere inches from his face quickly had him moving back into cover.

Asher zipped to the left and then to the right again in accordance to Ziva's rounds, getting closer each time. "The entire world structure…" he zipped to the left and switched his weapon to his right hand, "...will come crashing down…"

He zipped again to the right, this time right in front of Ziva; his own weapon was thrust less than an inch away from her face at the same time whirled and pointed her own gun at his chest.

For a moment, both of them merely stared at each other, challenging with cold stares. Then Ziva got a good look at the gun Asher was holding; the bastard still had his JTF2 SIG Sauer P225. The same gun he'd had as a member of the Hellstorm team. The same gun he'd used to betray Ziva.

Ziva glared up angrily at Asher- at the blatant sign of betrayal right in her face. Asher's face seemed almost in a far away, wide-eyed god-like manner and his tone was slow and deliberate. "A brand new cleansing of the earth is at hand," he cocked his head, "and _I_ will be the instigator!"

A flash of movement to her right caused Ziva to move her eyes in that direction; Tony had stepped out from the pillar and forward. The senior field agent raised his gun at Asher's head and fired. The Canadian had already flung himself backwards and the bullet ended up missing him completely. As his legs came up, one of his combat boots caught Ziva right under the chin, sending the Israeli sprawling heavily to her back.

Asher launched himself into a backwards flip, landing on his hands and following through to his feet. He immediately threw himself backwards again, except this time he twisted himself sideways as he swung upwards towards the ceiling. As though in slow motion, he twisted his body again in midair so that he was facing the roof, and grabbed hold with his free hand a steel pipe that ran the length of the car. Firmly gripping his source of support, he quickly aimed his gun down towards Ziva.

Tony, quickly analyzing the situation, saw that Ziva was just trying to get up after the last blow and was in no way in any position to defend herself. Quick as a flash, he aimed his own weapon up towards the Canadian and fired numerous shots, hoping to draw Ballack's attention away from his partner.

It worked- perhaps a little too well. One of Tony's shots caught Asher on the top of the shoulder, sending a small spray of blood up from the wound. An angry expression crossed Asher's face and he swung himself down towards Tony. The ex-cop briefly caught a glimpse of the right combat boot that hooked itself around his jaw line; a split second later he felt his feet go flying out from under him as Asher's left leg swept him right in the calves. As he hung sideways in midair for half a second he caught a glimpse of Asher setting his right foot on the floor to steady himself and deliver a straight left kick right into Tony's chest, sending him sailing several feet back before landing and rolling several times on the floor.

The entire move had taken approximately one point four seconds.

Ziva, back on her feet and now brandishing a knife backwards in her left hand, let out a cry as she spun around and swung the blade towards Asher's face; the Canadian threw up his left arm and caught the knife in his forearm. Even though a splash of blood exited the wound through the coat, the ex-soldier seemed completely unfazed by it. As Ziva tried fruitlessly to force the weapon further, a look of pure hatred and fury came into Asher's eyes. Jerking his left arm away, sending the blade spinning away across the car, Asher seized Ziva by the throat and started to squeeze. Ziva immediately grabbed hold of his forearms with both hands as the pain soared through her neck; she gritted her teeth and shook her head back and forth in an attempt to break free. Despite the torment her throat was going through, she began to feel his grip weakening and pressed her advantage. With a forceful effort, she managed to pry the Canadian's hand off her throat, and without giving him time to attack again she promptly through right leg up onto his right shoulder while balancing her left foot against his chest. Still grasping his arm with both hands, she flung herself sideways, sending both her and Asher rolling through to the ground on their backs. Ziva quickly grabbed hold of his neck with her left arm, and using her free hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the Hellstorm-filled syringe.

"I am tired of your garbage," she growled as she shook the cap off the needle, "you son of a _bitch_!"

She rammed the needle into the right side of his neck, eliciting an angry grunt from the Canadian. Pressing down on the plunger, she made sure she injected every little bit of the serum into him before shoving him away, the needle still in his neck. Breathing heavily, Ziva got to her feet. "You are nothing more than another common extremist!"

Asher got to his feet, turned around to face her, and stumbled back a few feet. Grasping the syringe in his right hand and his right forearm with his left hand, letting out small grunts, he bent his head slightly. He took a couple of shuffling steps towards the agents before sinking to one knee. Breathing heavily, he gritted his teeth visibly and with a single effort he tore the needle from his neck and flung it to the side of the car.

Tony came beside Ziva, staring at the ex-JTF2 soldier. "Did it work?" He asked in a low tone.

Releasing a deep breath, Ziva nodded. "I think so."

Drawing himself to full height, his eyes wide open yet fixated on the NCIS operatives, Asher took a few sauntering steps towards them, intending to finish them off once and for all. But it was obvious something was wrong; he could feel a pounding coming from deep inside his head, and as he stared at Tony and Ziva his vision of them suddenly turned bright orange and shimmered unsteadily.

Asher reached up and grabbed the sides of his head. Before the agents' eyes, he let out an animalistic cry of agony. Sinking to one knee again, he shook his head around and around, his grunts become lower and more viciously animalistic with each passing second. It was clear that the Hellstorm was kicking his system into overdrive and was in fact beginning to become toxic to his own biological system.

Tony turned to Ziva. "You know what we have to do, right?"

Ziva nodded. "I know."

Tony gave a nod of his own. "Watch my six, Zee; keep me covered."

He turned and ran towards the left side of the car, where the controls for the sliding door opposite it were. Ziva felt a sense of nervousness; even though she knew this was the only way, it was a very big risk to both of them. They would have to time their actions carefully.

As she watched her partner run towards the controls, Asher let out another animalistic roar of frustration and began running after him. Ziva quickly raised her gun and fired; Asher jumped up in the air and grabbed hold of the pipe running the length of the car. Ziva fired twice more and Asher swung himself out of the way down towards where Tony had just reached the other side of the car. But even though, he had dodged the bullets, it had cost him valuable time. Tony grabbed hold of the door controls, flipped it to the open position and quickly moved out of the way; Asher's fist slammed right through the steel wall where Tony's head had been a half second earlier.

There was a loud clanking noise and all of sudden a huge wind blew through the car as the doors began to separate. The train, travelling at a very high rate of speed, was causing a massive whirlwind to sweep through the open carriage, trying to suck out anything that wasn't bolted down.

Asher turned towards Tony, and the ex-cop saw that the irises of the Canadian had now turned completely orange, the result of a large Hellstorm overdose. Ripping his arm from the steel wall, Asher growled furiously at the senior field agent, "You're going to pay for that!"

But before he could do anything, Asher suddenly started sliding towards the open door. Feeling the effects of the immense vacuum the wind was creating Tony quickly grabbed hold of a nearby pillar with both hands. "Hang on!" he shouted over the roar of the wind at Ziva.

The Mossad officer grabbed hold of a pillar of her own, just as the vacuum caused her legs to be swept up and pulled in the direction of the open doors. Wrapping her arms around the steel object, she hung on for dear life as the force of the wind grew stronger by the second.

Asher wasn't quite so lucky; fighting to keep himself grounded, the Canadian was quickly lifted off his feet by a huge gust of wind. Flying backwards, his back slammed against the same pillar that Ziva was holding on to, and then flew past her in the direction of the doors. Ziva thought for a second that the former soldier-turned-terrorist was finally gone for good, but her feeling of relief was quickly cut short when she felt something grab hold of her ankle. Looking down, she saw a crazy-eyed Asher holding on with both hands.

Tony, watching this all unfold, could only hold onto his own pillar as Ziva let out a barely audible cry and tried to shake Asher off her leg, but the Canadian had an iron grip was not about to let go. Ziva and Asher both flailed in the wind like flags, their grips the only thing keeping them from flying out into God-knows-where. Ziva's long dark hair flew all around her as the wind whipped though it. For a split second, he caught himself absently thinking that it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life, but quickly brought himself back to reality as he saw the desperate struggles of his partner to free herself. Frantically, he racked his mind trying to think up someway to get over there and help her; unfortunately, the wind made it impossible for him let go of his pillar without getting blown out himself.

Then he saw Ziva look up towards him; her expression changed from a desperate one to a- he'd have to call it sadder, more-knowing one. Her facial muscles relaxed and her eyes changed from desperation to knowing sadness- as if she was almost asking him to _forgive_ her…

Suddenly, in Tony's mind, all sounds vanished from the car; no wind, no cries, nothing. Instead, he could swear he heard a slow, high-pitched music that was being played directly into his ears, just like in the movies or TV shows when something inevitably tragic was about to happen to a main, well-liked character.

Something tragic… well-liked…

A picture suddenly flashed through his mind. Kate's picture. She was staring at him with that all-too familiar, yet almost friendly smirk on her face- something he had gotten so used to for several years; something he missed terribly.

Another picture flashed through his mind; Kate lying on the roof, an unblinking stare in her eyes, a bullet hole in the centre of her forehead. Her final words…

_Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard…_

Kate's smiling face disappeared, giving way to Ziva's sad stare directly into his eyes. It was something he had never seen on her face before- that look of pleading, of _begging_- for forgiveness- for him to forgive her for what she was about to do…

Then, as Tony watched in heart-pounding silence, Ziva's fingers lifted up- voluntarily- off the pillar. Her eyes never breaking his, her expression remaining the same, she slowly flew backwards.

Right in the direction of the open train doors…

**A/N: I wonder if anyone was bored with this story. Hmm, maybe I'll have to re-think continuing it. Maybe I'll have to re-think continuing with the two awesome sequels I planned for this story as well. Of course, a few good, in-depth reviews may change my mind… **


	31. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

**A/N: Hmm, I guess there's just enough support for this fic in order to force me to continue with it. Oh well… LOL just kidding! I never intended to just quit with this fic- especially since we're right near the end. Plus, I've already got the plans for the two sequels in my head and have a good idea how they're going to go. **

**Limmenel- I'm glad you've grown to like this fic, even if you were unsure of it in the beginning. The whole Matrix-esque of the story wasn't really foremost in my mind; I originally planned to base Asher off of Victor Creed from the **_**Wolverine**_** film (you can see this in the prologue) but then I decided to base Asher's abilities off of Albert Wesker's from **_**Resident Evil 5**_**. There's no attempt at copyright; I just felt I could do a lot with a character like that.**

**Anyway, on we go!**

***

"_NO!!_"

Tony immediately let go of his pillar and allowed himself to fly across the car. His heart pounding in his chest, he shot out his left hand and made a desperate grab forward. His hand managed to grasp Ziva's left forearm just a second before she would have been sucked out of the train. He shot out his right hand behind him in a desperate bid to find something- anything- to grab hold of, and was somewhat surprised when he felt the cold metal of the same pillar Ziva had just let go of. Holding on to both his partner and his source of support, he caught sight of the look on Ziva's face; the surprise she had was evident, but he also saw something else- gratefulness.

The wind continued to howl throughout the car and Tony felt his muscles strain as he struggled to maintain his grip on two separate things at the same time. Despite the pain, he refused to let go- not from the pillar, and certainly not Ziva.

Asher growled as he continued to hold onto Ziva's ankle, the only thing preventing him from flying out into who-knows-where. His angry expression locked onto the agents, he grunted over the wind, "I'm going to take the two of you with me!"

Ziva looked down, an expression of both anger and frustration on her face, and un-holstered her weapon. "Oh," she growled, "get off my back!"

She pulled the trigger once, right in the forehead of her ex-partner; she felt his grip release and the Canadian went flying backwards, still furious-eyed, out of the cargo doors, disappearing into the outer world.

She felt a sigh of relief flood through her body, almost like the sense that a massive brick wall had been lifted from up off her shoulders. She was so occupied in staring at the open doors that she almost didn't hear Tony's voice shouting quite near to her.

"The brake, Ziva!" The ex-cop was calling. "The emergency brake; we have to stop the train now!"

Looking around to where he was jabbing, rather comically, with his head, Ziva could see a large lever on the left side of the doors, and recognizing the red colour of the handle, immediately understood that its purpose was to halt the engine in case anything were to go wrong. The only problem was it was just out of reach of her foot, and there was no way she could swing over to it without letting go of Tony and falling out of the car. Swearing under her breath, she tried thinking frantically of a way of activating it, and, looking down at her free hand, suddenly found herself considering another highly risky move in a matter of minutes.

"Hold on!" She called to Tony, bringing her weapon up and aiming it at the lever. Immediately realizing what she was about to do, Tony quickly tightened his grip even more on both ends; if the recoil caused Ziva to go off balance, he was going to make damn sure he would not let her go.

Ziva, focused on the lever after years of training of keeping her weapon steady under any circumstances, took a deep breath, concentrated on her target and fired.

The shot hit dead centre, the lever forced back into the brake position. There was a screeching of metal against metal from the outside as the wheels were suddenly slowed down significantly and the velocity at which the train was travelling immediately decreased. Ziva felt herself being flung violently backwards, and if it weren't for Tony's iron grip on her wrist she would have gone flying directly into the metal wall at the back of the car. Tony firmly grasped both his partner and the pillar as the speed continued to drop at an increasingly high rate.

Finally, the brakes kicked in entirely and Ziva gently dropped to the ground. Tony cautiously released his hold on the pillar and, releasing a held-in breath, carefully let go of Ziva. "You okay, Zee?"

Ziva nodded. "I am fine." There was a momentary silence. "Thank you Tony."

The senior field agent tried, very unsuccessfully, to merely shrug it off as though it were merely a common day-to-day scenario. "Oh, you know me- always willing to take a risk for the probies; it earns me some points with the bossman."

Ziva rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the small smile that spread across her lips. _Tony, why do you pretend it does not matter to you? Oh, why do I ask myself questions like that? Why do _I_ pretend it does not matter me? Why do I hide constantly behind an emotional wall? You have nothing to hide behind- you are as free-spirited as anybody I know. You think it does not matter to me, but it does. It matters a lot to me Tony_.

The two agents took a moment to catch their breath and then carefully stepped through the open doors to the outside. It was indeed surprising to them to find themselves right near the edge of a rocky and very deep ravine. The rails were about ten yards away from the edge of this drop-off point, sharply cutting downwards at least fifty feet with rough pieces of stone sticking out from the surface. A large wall of loose-fitting rocks was stacked up on the left side of the ravine, at least thirty feet high; the precarious position they were being held together made it pretty obvious that the wear and tear of nature had taken its toll on the structure, and there was very little holding it all in place. But the real thing that caught their attention was the fact that the train had stopped just on the outskirts of entering metropolitan Washington; if they hadn't stopped the train when they had…

The partners were so fixated on the sight they didn't hear the slow shuffling footsteps coming up behind them. It wasn't until the voice actually spoke up did they realize they weren't completely in the clear yet.

"I should have killed you a long time ago…"

Turning around, Ziva and Tony both saw the standing figure of Asher, his coat and shirt gone, leaving him naked from the waist up except for his gloves. They immediately raised their guns at pointed them at him. His eyes, burning a bright orange, gave a truly demonic look as his face contorted with anger, and his voice pulsed with hatred, "_Ziva_…"

"That was your mistake!" Ziva shouted back. "It is finished for you, Asher!"

"Finished?" Asher shot her a sideways look. "It's only just beginning! Why can't you understand, Ziva? My goal is to save humanity from its own corruption; all you've done is bought the world some more time for it to completely destroy itself. By trying to help it, you're allowing it to drown itself in greed and overconsumption! What's in the world today that makes it worth saving? War, pestilence, corruption and genocide wherever you go! What'll you do when the things you've come to trust most end up being the ones that drive this world to mass extinction?"

"Whatever this world may be facing," Ziva replied angrily, "it cannot be anywhere near as horrible as to what you were trying to do! But you have failed; NCIS has stopped Hellstorm. You have nothing left!"

Asher took a shovelling step forward. "Do you really think a group as corrupt as this could possibly consider you one of their own? NCIS is lying to you Ziva! Everyone you know and have come to trust is lying to you; NCIS, Mossad, your father, Gibbs," he looked towards Tony, "the person you trust to watch your back. None of them care about you! They'll betray you the second it suits their selfish purposes and leave you to die in a dark room halfway across the world! And all I'll have to do is sit back and watch as the world implodes and collapses around you."

"You got a real sunny outlook on life." Tony interjected. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"It does not matter what you think Asher." Ziva said. "No matter what you try to do, you will never break my resolve. Unlike you, I can actually _feel_ what the right thing to do is instead of just believing it. And you will not get the luxury of seeing your beloved chaos and destruction; you will never be sitting back and watching anything again."

Asher's eyes flashed an even deeper orange, if that was possible, in anger. Leaning back, he made another charge towards the pair, but the overdose of Hellstorm made sure that his movements were slower than they originally had been. Tony quickly stepped forward and swept his leg across Asher's own, causing the Canadian to stumble forward. The ex-cop immediately went around to his back and grabbed Asher by the neck, dragging him upright. "Ziva, now!" Tony shouted. "Shoot him!"

Ziva raised her weapon and tried to aim at Asher's head, but the ex-JTF2 soldier was jerking around wildly, flopping Tony, who was hanging around for dear life, around with him. It was impossible to get a clear shot without risking hitting her partner.

"Ziva, shoot him!" Tony's strained shout came again.

Ziva clenched her jaw. "I cannot do that without hitting you!"

Between growls, Tony managed to grunt out, "Then shoot _through_ me!"

Ziva found herself frozen to the spot, unable to decide what to do. Could she really risk Tony's life in order to kill Asher? Asher needed to be stopped permanently, and right now she could do that. But could she live with the consequences? Would Tony's face haunt her for the rest of her life? Would she forever carry the burden of having to kill another person she cared about?

Then she recalled her father's words from her nightmare- the same nightmare after which she had found comfort beside Tony.

_You cannot put Asher down when you are dragging loose ends like NCIS and your own morality with you, Ziva. To kill him, you are going to have to embrace your other side; that darker, cold-blooded killer… become that killer Ziva, and embrace your inner rage…_

In that moment, Ziva made her decision. There was no way she was going to allow herself to become what her father had taken upon himself to mould her into. She would not sacrifice who she was in order to please anyone. She would not sacrifice the lives of those she cared about- especially not Tony's life.

Decisively, Ziva holstered her gun and quickly drew out two her knives, one in each hand. A look of both determination and anger on her face, she let out an offensive cry, leapt forward and began slashing Asher across his chest.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Ziva could barely see past her blind rage as she rapidly slashed left and right. Her eyes were narrowed and furious and her jaw was clenched as spray after spray of blood sprayed up through the air. Asher had hurt her and her friends in the worst way possible, and now she wanted to hurt him right back.

Her left knife flew out of her hand behind Asher and Tony, but she didn't stop. Instead she grabbed her remaining knife with both hands and started viciously stabbing Asher's torso with it. She stabbed downwards, to the left, to the side, to the right- each blow more vicious than the last.

Finally, she took a step back, flipped her knife so that the blade as facing forward away from her hand, focused her determined eyes on her target, and then leapt forward. She rammed the blade with every ounce of strength she had into Asher's upper left chest, right where his heart was located. The force of the impact sent Tony stumbling off of Asher backwards.

Asher, momentarily stunned by this blow, looked up and furiously caught Ziva's eye. He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, attempting to finish his archenemy off for good. Tony, seeing this unfold, quickly grabbed the knife that rested on the ground near him and ran up behind the Canadian. He slammed the blade into the left side of Asher's back as hard as he could, right through the backside of his heart; the point of the knife met up with the blade Ziva had stabbed through him. The ex-cop then threw him backwards and took up a stance beside Ziva, both agents drawing their guns.

Asher stumbled backwards unsteadily for a few steps and then looked up at Ziva. His eyes were continuously pulsating orange rage out of them and looked like he truly was about to snap. Ziva tightened her grip on her weapon.

Then the loose ground beneath Asher's feet gave way; the Canadian stumbled, tried to regain his balance, failed and ended up falling over the edge.

Ziva and Tony both looked at each other in shock before racing over to the edge and peering cautiously over. Below they saw the figure of Asher bouncing off the rocky wall down towards the ravine. The Canadian bounced of a large, rough stone sticking out of the side and fell the final twenty feet to the ground, landing on his stomach with a heavy thud.

The two NCIS agents gripped their pistols even tighter and watched in amazement as, as though motivated by sheer instinct or hatred, Asher slowly pushed himself up and got stumblingly to his feet. The ex-Canadian Forces soldier seemed to paused for a moment before looking upwards; even with the massive height difference, Ziva couldn't help but shudder at the look of pure anger and rage on the almost demonic face of her ex-partner. Asher gritted his teeth viciously, and when he spoke again his tone matched up perfectly with his face.

"_ZIVA!!!_"

A firm look of determination spread across the Israeli's face; in one fluid moment she raised her gun, aimed at the rock pile at the side of the ravine and fired.

The bullet struck one of the lower rocks, which was supporting the entire pile. The rock shifted for a second, paused, and then fell down.

A massive rumbling erupted from the ravine a split second before the entire pile came loose and started racing down towards the bottom. Asher turned around towards the sound; his eyes narrowed and filled with rage as the massive combination of boulders and loose mud came sweeping in his direction. He opened his mouth- to speak or to give a roar of anger, neither agent knew, for at that moment the wave swept over him and the Canadian disappeared under the sea of debris.

Tony and Ziva watched amazed as about fifty tons of dirt, rock and mud swept the entire bottom of the ravine. The onrush seemed to last forever, even though in truth it probably took only about twenty seconds. The entire backlog of debris had been released when the floodgates opened and a massive cloud of dust was rising up from the pit.

Eventually, the rumbling grew quieter and quieter until it stopped all together. A new, tranquil silence filled the air. Ziva, peering down into the pit with an expression that ranged somewhere from success to acknowledgement to- Tony would almost have to call it _happiness_- said in a low, but strong voice, "That was for McGee."

The Mossad officer took a deep breath and turned towards Tony. Now there was no mistake about it, the senior field agent thought; for the first time since this business began, he could truly see a look of definite relief and happiness on the face of his partner. Her face was so bright, he thought, it lit up the entire area and cut through the rising dust. In fact, he was just wondering whether he ought not to try mentioning this to Ziva when another low rumbling, this time from the sky, had the agents looking upwards. Through the dust, they could see the outline of a helicopter descending towards them.

"Huh," Tony said, somewhat wearily- and also somewhat in disappointment. "Looks the cavalry has arrived late once again."

Ziva, peering up towards the side, couldn't help but suppress a grimace. "That is not all who are arriving, Tony."

"What do you mean?"

"If I am seeing this correctly, it would appear that a certain figure of authority in our lives has just managed to track us down."

Tony involuntarily tensed up, knowing exactly who she was talking about before he saw him. "Oh great," he muttered as the helicopter landed about twenty yards away from him. He straightened up and put on a trademark smile in anticipation of the figure that was now striding purposefully towards them.

"Hi boss."

**A/N: Just FYI: the next chapter WILL be the last one, but I also am intending to add a little something else afterwards. However, this is dependent on what reader's responses are; if I get enough reviews, I'll tell you! DON'T ASSUME ANYTHING! Thank you so much for your support throughout!**


	32. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

_**Six Hours Later- Georgetown University Hospital**_

Tony and Ziva sat in the hospital's waiting room, neither having said a word to each other in the last hour and a half. Tony absentmindedly drummed his fingers on his leg, having no cell phone to pull a Tetris game up on, while Ziva sat back with her head against the wall and her eyes, though alert, practically reflecting fatigue and exhaustion.

It had been, to say the least, a tiring last few hours- and not just because of the knowledge that the ordeal was finally over.

Gibbs' unexpected arrival on the scene right after the landslide in the ravine had not been totally unexpected; both agents had figured their team leader would track them down. He had- and upon reaching his two most experienced field agents had given both the biggest head slaps he had ever given anyone. Tony absently rubbed the back of his head where he was sure there was now a marine-sized handprint on the back of his skull. Ziva had momentarily been amused at the look on Tony's face after Gibbs' blow, but had quickly smarted when he had given her one of her own- which she would swear was almost as hard as Tony's. After verbally dressing down the two agents for their 'incredibly and unbelievably stupid behaviour' for about three minutes, he had calmed down enough to ask whether they were alright. Tony wasn't sure why the bossman would ask that since the next thing he knew he was being hustled into an ambulance beside Ziva; even though the two had tried to protest, Gibbs ordered them taken there anyway. When Ziva looked like she might actually be able to convince Gibbs that it was not necessary, the team leader had silenced all protest by informing them that McGee had just come out of his coma and was able to talk to them. That quickly got them to lie back and keep quiet until they had reached the hospital.

Their move to see their injured teammate was hampered by the insistence of the doctors at conducting full examinations of both of them to ensure they didn't have any internal injuries. After a lot of whining from Tony, a few sharp glances from Ziva, and a not-so-subtle threat from Gibbs, the two had finally consented and after three quarters of an hour were finally cleared.

And so they sat in the waiting room. Gibbs had just left to accompany Abby as the two went to see McGee in his room, though he semi-covered for his concern by claiming to get himself another coffee and trying seek out a Caf-Pow for Abby. The thought of Gibbs actually showing outward concern for anyone made Tony grin; even though he knew his boss was as concerned for McGee as the rest of them, that old marine in him still made him look as cool and collective as ever.

"What are you grinning at, Tony?"

Tony turned to see his partner staring at him intently.

"Huh? Oh, nothing really." Tony leaned back in his chair. "It just feels strange to be able to sit back and not have anything to worry about for the first time in forty-eight hours."

"Except for the massive mound of paperwork that Gibbs will probably have ready for us." Ziva reminded him.

Tony groaned and looked towards her grimacing. "Aw, man Ziva! You just had to go and ruin my perfect afternoon, didn't you?"

Ziva gave a small smirk. "If I did not do it, then who would?"

Tony shook his head. "You're such a spoiler, Zee-vah!" He gave a slightly perked up look. "Well, at least Gibbs won't be making us explain to the SecNav about how the world's most terrible weapon of mass destruction combined with America's most sought out natural resource nearly blew all of DC to hell and back. Do you have any idea what's going to happen with all the drums we found in the rest of the cars?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, but I imagine Gibbs will not be too eager to hand them back to the CIA after all the trouble they caused with it in the first place."

Tony whistled. "Man, now _that_ would be a pay-per-view I'd pay top dollar to see; Gibbs versus the entire CIA! If they know what's good for them, they'll let NCIS keep their prized creation under about a thousand different locks and keys!"

Ziva nodded. "I agree. It would probably save millions of innocent lives. It probably will not do any harm that Asher has been stopped as well." She was silent. "Has there been any news regarding him? Have they made any type of discovery?"

Tony shook his head. "They haven't found his body yet, if that's what you're wondering. Then again, I don't expect them to any time soon. After all, there's about twenty tons of rock and hardened mud between him and the surface. Even with his remarkable powers of regeneration, I doubt he'd be able to heal up from _that_."

"I am not so sure." Ziva murmured.

Her partner looked at her. "Oh, come on Ziva! You can't really think he survived, did you? I mean, I know the guy has survived countless things that would kill anyone else, but come on! How can he heal from being crushed to pieces with all that rubble keeping the pressure on him? If there was even the smallest chance that he survived the initial landslide, he would have suffocated by now."

Ziva shook her head. "Until I see his body, I will never be entirely at ease."

Tony looked like he was going to argue further, then clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms. "Fine then. Be the pessimist. But if you're going to wait around until anyone even considers moving all that debris just to find a bunch of human jelly, don't drag me along with you. I got more pressing matters to attend to."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "You mean like picking up random blonde bimbos at bars? Yes, I can see how _important _that must be for you; I am amazed you survived the last couple of days without it." She paused for a moment, as though contemplating her next words. "Tony," she said slowly and quietly, "I think we should talk- about what happened on the train."

Tony looked at her curiously. "What do you mean? About _what_ happened on the train?"

"About you saving my life. Why did you do it?"

The ex-cop's eyes widened in surprise. "Why did I do it? Ziva, I'm your partner! Partners are always supposed to have your six! You didn't really think I was just going to let you throw yourself out of a moving train like a piece of trash, did you? And what the hell do you think I would have said to Gibbs? 'Hey boss, just to let you know we averted a major terrorist plot and, oh yeah- I let Ziva sacrifice herself to kill a heartless scumbag without doing a damn thing to stop it!'"

"You could have argued the greater good." Ziva said. "Sacrificing a single person to save countless others- he would have understood."

"I wasn't thinking about the greater good!" Tony said agitatedly. "I was thinking of _you_! There was a good chance he would have survived the fall, but you sure as hell wouldn't have. You're too good a person to have that happen to them!" He paused to catch his breath, and then spoke more softly. "Besides, after you saved my ass from being impaled back in that warehouse I figured I owed you one."

A small smile spread over Ziva's face. She turned herself so she was fully facing her partner, leaning in closer towards him and speaking in a low tone. "Just one, Tony?"

Tony hesitated, his mouth opening slightly and then promptly closing. He seemed to have, for the first time in his life, been lost for words. Ziva could swear she saw the faintest of blushes in Tony's cheeks.

Whatever the senior field agent may have been planning to say was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a number of people in the waiting room. Turning to look at them, the two agents saw the figures of Gibbs, Abby and Sarah step into the room.

Gibbs appeared to be on the verge of saying something, but was beaten to the punch by the younger McGee. "So are you actually going to kiss her Tony or just sit there gawking like an idiot?" Sarah asked casually.

Tony's mouth dropped open. "What?" He stared at Ziva, who stared back at him; both agents quickly moved further away from each other. "No, of course not! What, me and her?" He gave a laugh. "Sorry to disappoint you Sarah, but contrary to what your big brother writes in his books some things are actually based in reality!"

"Definitely!" Ziva nodded up and down really quickly. "The mere prospect that we could… I mean, that would be completely against all logic!"

"Not to mention the fact that they're still breathing Sarah." Gibbs added. "I'm glad to see there's at least one of my rules that DiNozzo hasn't convinced her to break yet." He gave a small smirk, which was returned by a knowing Abby, yet he couldn't help seeing a somewhat- _dismayed_ and thoughtful look on the faces of both his agents.

"Anyway, the reason we decided to barge in on your little… catch-up session," Abby interjected, "was that McGee's up, awake and wanting to speak to both of you."

Tony and Ziva's faces grew serious again. "How's he doing?" Tony asked.

"According to the doctors, he's going to make a full recovery." Gibbs replied. "They're going to need to keep him in here for about two weeks for observation and he likely won't be able to work the field for another two or so, but apart from that he'll back up to speed in no time."

"And you are sure it is us he wishes to see?" Ziva questioned.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Did you just ask me to repeat myself Ziva?"

In a flash the two agents were up and out walking in the direction of McGee's room.

Sarah laughed. "You haven't changed a bit Gibbs."

Gibbs grinned. "Never in a hundred years."

Sarah's face grew serious. "Gibbs- about what I said. About Tim's attack being your fault. I- I shouldn't have said it…"

"Forget about it." Gibbs interrupted. "It's in the past."

"But it was totally wrong of me! I accused you of using Tim for your own purposes when you were the one who was going out of your way to protect him. There are no words I can say to ask you to forgive me."

"So don't say it." Gibbs replied simply.

"But I think you should at least accept an apology from me for such a selfish act…"

"Sarah McGee," Gibbs gave her his stare, "would you really like to experience another aspect of working under me that your brother has experienced himself numerous times?" He raised his hand semi-threateningly.

Abby jumped in. "This would be a good time for you to just accept that the bossman doesn't want nor need your apologies, Sarah. Trust me- it's far easier this way."

Sarah looked like she was going to argue further, then saw the serious look on Abby's face. "Okay, fine. It's all in the past and forgotten."

Gibbs lowered his hand and nodded. "Good." He raised an eyebrow. "Although the way you physically greeted me the last time, I really ought to return the favour. Has anyone ever told you that you got a hand like a frying pan?"

Sarah turned red. "Oh yeah. Um, sorry about that. I was a little pissed off at the situation and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Never apologize. It's…"

"…a sign of weakness." Sarah interrupted with a small smile. "I know- Tim told me that a while back when he had to come pick me up from a bar since I was too wasted to drive home."

"He learned from the best." Gibbs said approvingly. "He's turning into a damn fine agent- one I'm proud to have on my team."

Abby clapped her hands together. "Great! Now, since we're all celebrating Tim's recovery, I think we deserve a little celebratory snack together while Tony and Ziva are… _gawking_ at each other!" She put her arms around both her companions' shoulders. "What do you guys say to a little lunch?"

"Oh!" Sarah's eyes lit up. "I know the perfect pizza place just a few blocks from here! You guys up for a selection of great pizzas?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "As long as none of them involve Tabasco sauce, pickles or peanut butter."

"Oh that's just the _beginning_!"

***

Tony and Ziva both readied themselves when they walked into McGee's room. The junior field agent was sitting up propped against a pillow. A few of the bandages around his head had been removed, but he still looked worse for the wear. Still, he was looking a lot better than Ziva and Tony had seen him the last time and the pain didn't stop him from smiling as the two approached his bed.

"Hey guys."

Ziva gave a smile of her own. "Hello McGee. It is good to see you awake."

"Yeah." Tony piped up. "I mean, you were looking real dull and boring just lying there. It's no fun picking on a probie when they just lie there looking like a wrapped-up tree log." He got an elbow in the side from Ziva for that.

McGee merely chuckled. He knew this was Tony's way of showing his concern, and right now he appreciated the gesture far too much to argue with him. "Well, if it's any consolation Tony, you're not the picture of perfection right now either; you look like you've been in a few rounds with Rocky Balboa."

"Hey! I'll have you know I earned every one of these aches, pains and bruises! And don't knock Rocky McHigh-and-Mighty; he shone in every one single one of his films. You know come to think of it, this reminds me of another movie…" His wandering thought was quickly cut short courtesy of another elbow from Ziva.

"Honestly McGee," the Israeli asked with concern, "how are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" McGee lay back. "Better than I expected I would after waking up from a coma. I hate the fact that I won't be able to leave for two weeks, but I guess I don't have a choice." He paused for a moment. "Gibbs explained everything that's happened- ever since I was attacked." His eyes met Ziva's. "About you and Asher Ballack."

Ziva struggled to hold back her tears. "Then you will know that your being attacked is my fault."

McGee looked at her. "Your fault?" He gave an unexpected snort and shook his head. "No, if anyone around here's to blame, it's me for being in the field in the first place."

Tony and Ziva both looked shocked. "How the hell do you figure that?" Tony demanded.

"For not being fast enough on my feet." He stared at them. "The rest of you have already proven your abilities in the field. Tony, you're an ex-cop; Ziva, you're a trained assassin; and Gibbs is a former marine. And what am I? An MIT graduate from Cyber Crimes. You have more than enough field experience. You don't need me."

"Now just you listen to me, McQuitter!" Tony said sternly, pointing a finger at him. "What happened to you is not your fault. I probably sound like a broken record right now because I've been saying the same thing to Gibbs and Ziva for the last two days, but it's as true with you as it is with them. Don't you dare even _think_ about blaming yourself, or so help me I will give you a head slap that makes the ones the boss gives you look like love taps!"

"Besides," Ziva added firmly, "what happened to you could have happened to any one of us. Is it your fault you could not physically overcome someone with artificially enhanced abilities? How many people would have curled up and died before help arrived McGee? You held on and refused to give up when you could have so easily. That in my opinion is a far greater act of strength and courage than anything I have ever seen out of you."

McGee turned slightly red. "Well, when you put it like that way…"

Tony gave a genuine grin. "'Atta Probie! Like I always tell myself, there's nothing better than encouragement from a raven-haired Mossad agent to get you back on your feet!"

Ziva raised an eyebrow at him. "You may as well get used to that Tony, since you will never get any encouragement from me that will keep you on your back."

"_Really_?" Tony drawled. The two agents kept up their smirking stares at each other until they were interrupted by the obviously-forced cough from their bed-ridden teammate.

"Look, I appreciate your encouragement- really I do. I guess I'm just going to have to get better at being in the field on my own." McGee stared at Tony. "You were right about me needing to hit the gym more often."

"Hey," Tony smiled, "if you want, I can hook you up with one I know when you get out. The female fitness trainers there are smoking and flexible like you wouldn't believe!"

McGee gave a smile of his own. "Thanks." He turned his attention to his other teammate. "And Ziva, I know this is going to sound strange but could I ask a favour of you?"

Ziva looked somewhat surprised but said, "What would you like me to do?"

"Show me at least a couple of your killing holds." McGee said seriously. "The next time someone decides to lift me off the ground with one arm and slam into a window, I at least want to know something that doesn't end with me getting ending up being the weak link of the team in the hospital with a concussion."

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "I would never consider you to be the weak link in our team McGee, but if you are serious I may be able to teach you a few of my Mossad skills. Not all of them, but enough that it would help you if you ever needed it."

"Hey! You never volunteered to show me any of your special skills!" Tony protested.

Ziva smirked. "In this case Tony, McGee was quicker than you and he will receive his prize for that. However, if you are so interested in my… 'special skills', perhaps you would like to be the first person I demonstrate on to McGee." Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Uh, no… that's okay." Tony took a step back. "The last thing I need is giving McGee any knowledge that somehow makes him manlier than me. If you'll excuse me, I… feel a sudden desire for coffee." He turned and quickly walked out of the room.

Ziva smirked and turned to McGee. "Well, since the… _DiNozzonator_ appears to have made himself scarce perhaps you would like to know the extent of skills _in person_…" She took hold of one of his hands.

Beads of sweat immediately broke out on McGee's forehead. "Uh, Ziva… I, uh- when I said I wanted some knowledge of your skills, I didn't mean this… personally."

"Oh McGee," Ziva shook her head, "how will you ever learn how to inflict the greatest pain on someone if you do not know what they are going through first hand?"

"Well, I…uh…."

Ziva grinned. "Relax McGee. I am just- what is the expression you Americans use? Pulling your foot, yes?"

"Leg, Ziva. Pulling my leg."

A thoughtful expression came over Ziva's face. "You know, now that you mention it, there is one move I know that you can apply to the leg. Very excruciating- the last man to whom I applied it begged me kill him after five seconds. Of course, blocking all the blood flow to an entire limb tends to do that."

A rather nervous look came over McGee's face, and Ziva couldn't help but grin to herself. There was no question for her- this place was her home; these people were her friends. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

**A/N: That's it! This is the official end to the story! Thank you so much for your support throughout! However, don't file this away yet!**

**As I stated before, I am planning to write two sequels to this story. The next one will be VERY exciting and good- in fact, I'm looking forward to it so much, I'm offering all who read this story to get a glimpse of my next one. **

**In order for that to happen, there must be a minimum of FIVE WELL WRITTEN, IN-DEPTH reviews (and no, writing 'insert in-depth review here' counts, although that WAS very ingenious) for this story. They can be by ANYONE, be on ANY chapter, and be about ANYTHING (plot, characters etc.) But they must be there. If they are, I will post the plot summary and part of the first chapter for the second story after this chapter. I will not officially close this story for about another week, so if you want to see the first part of the next one, you better get writing with the reviews!**

**Here's two more bits of information to motivate you: 1) the official songs to the next story are 'Hellbent' by Groove Addicts and 'Heart of Courage' by Two Steps from Hell; and 2) international readers from around the world should pay attention because there are going to be many important characters from different countries who play a prominent role in the next story.**

**Interested? Let's get those reviews- then we'll talk business! **


	33. Excerpt

**Excerpt**

**Title****: Into Hell**

**Official Songs: 'Hellbent' by Groove Addicts and 'Heart of Courage' by Two Steps from Hell**

**Plot****: Set near the end of Season 7. In the process of investigating a string of mysterious mass disappearances of Navy personnel, the team is suddenly and violently ambushed by an unknown and highly advanced enemy. Rescued by two foreign intelligence agents, realizing that NCIS' ability to operate and respond has all but been destroyed, the team must recruit a group of the most skilled but unlikely operatives from around the world and search for clues about the nature of their enemy. In order to be successful, the newly formed group must launch an offensive attack, in what could very well be for all of them a suicide mission…**

In the large dimly-lit room, a single light flickered on; the large screen at the back, stretching at least half of the room's far wall, hiccupped once and then switched on completely, lighting up every corner of the area. Computers and consoles filled almost every square foot, leaving only a thin path from the door to the back to walk along. The console underneath the screen lit up with at least a thousand different lights, each one highlighting a different function or purpose.

At a computer near the screen, a figure stopped and turned- a small, slender female figure; thin, yet remarkably agile; petite, yet extremely dangerous. Her eyes narrowed towards the screen; dark eyes that pierced the soul of anyone who stared into them. A quick flick of her wrist- barely noticeable but enough to sever a man's spine at just the right angle, flicked off the computer it was studying. In two seconds, she had moved over directly in front of the screen and stared up at it, the light shining off the black leather outfit curving snugly over her body. The unique insignia over her right breast, that of two crossed flaming katanas, shone in the reflection of the screen.

In the confines of the screen appeared the picture of a grey-suited man sitting behind a wooden desk, his face hidden in the darkness of the room he occupied. His fingers interlocked on the desk in front of him, he asked in a low, emotionless voice, "What have you to report?"

Not a flicker of emotion passed over the woman's Asiatic facial features as she replied, "The operation in Washington has largely been a success; the latest naval base was pacified and all subjects were captured and transported without incident, as have all our other targets since the operation began. Our work and tests will continue unhindered." She began to pace in the small space in front of the screen. "However, we may have to deal with a certain obstacle in our path before our next target can be hit."

"Obstacle?" The man drummed his fingers against the desk. "I assume you are referring to the attention you have drawn by the US Navy's own authorities."

"The Naval Criminal Investigative Service has been pursuing our strikes with more determination than we had anticipated." The woman replied. "Their investigations have not caused any significant changes to our own operations, and we are confident they have not yet become aware of our existence, but their presence is becoming increasingly intrusive. They have been forcing us to make more adaptations to our operation than all of the other investigative services of the navies we have hit. If this continues as it has, the success of our long-term goals may not be so reassured."

The man paused for a second before inhaling audibly. "That is unacceptable."

The woman frowned. "The intrusion of NCIS will not be permitted to endanger our operation. They are merely one group, but it seems they pursue their own goals with a ruthless desire that almost parallels our own. Small as they are, they are a real threat. If NCIS is allowed to interfere, our operation will be in jeopardy of failure."

The man leaned back and looked straight ahead. In a low, decisive tone, he replied, "Then see to it that they do not interfere."

The woman nodded, and the man continued in the same tone. "The field unit of NCIS is currently on location of your latest strike- vulnerable in their current position. The defence capabilities of the investigative service's official building are severely lacking and should not pose a problem." He leaned forward, his face still hidden from view. "Ensure that NCIS does not pose any future problems."

The screen went blank.

An almost fiery look came into the woman's eye, her lips pursed together for a second before she raised a hand to her earpiece.

"_Attention all grounded troops; Commando Units B and C are to proceed immediately to the coordinates uploaded to their respective squad leaders. Mission objectives are to locate and destroy the noted targets with extreme prejudice. No subjects are to be captured or left alive; repeat- no subjects are to be captured or left alive. Prepare Battle Strikers for deployment in order to ensure complete annihilation of targeted personnel and property. Ensure that the Naval Criminal Investigative Service is destroyed beyond recovery._"

**A/N: This was just a small taste of the first chapter. What do you think?**

**See you for the sequel. International readers pay attention! **


	34. Update

Hello all!

This note is just to let everyone know that, due to my own constantly changing ideas, the sequel to this story is called 'Even If This Costs Us Our Lives' (EITCUOL), **NOT** 'Into Hell'. This change happened a long, _long_ time ago, but for some reason I never saw fit to let people know until now. If you've been looking for the sequel for a long time but have been unable to find it, this may be the reason why.

By the way, EITCUOL will be rated 'M' starting with the next update, which hopefully will be soon.

Sorry for the inconvenience. Keep reading and reviewing!


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